Shipwrecked
by Ariel Riddle
Summary: A/U 18th Century Dramione. Draco is a the Captain of a successful trading ship carting Muggles across the seas. Upon crossing the rebel pirate Harry Potter, he finds himself shipwrecked on a deserted island with nothing but a Muggle girl to thank for saving him. A Muggle with a major secret...
1. Chapter 1: Attacked

**_Shipwrecked_**

 **Warnings: Characters can be OOC, non-Canon, A/U, violence, sexual scenes**

 **Rating: M for adult themes and probably future sexual scenes**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing HP recognizable, just the plot!**

 **Summary: Prompt suggested by Riddlesgurlforever. A/U 18** **th** **Century Dramione (Magical). Draco is the captain of a successful trading ship tasked with transporting indentured Muggles across the oceans to Pureblood families. The seas have become dangerous thanks to the rebel Harry Potter who lays wastes to King Riddle's fleets. After one such encounter with the renegade Order of the Phoenix, Draco finds himself shipwrecked on a deserted island with no one but a muggle girl to thank for saving him. Never one to engage with Muggles, Draco must adapt to the situation. But Hermione is not all that he first assumes and Draco soon becomes impressed with his Mudblood savior as she proves more than competent at surviving.**

 **A/N: This is a WIP I'm hoping to update twice monthly. Art for this fic can be seen on my tumblr (ariel-riddle), facebook (Ariel Riddle), or photobucket (ariel_riddle). Please leave a review! Thanks and happy reading C:**

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 **000**

Draco Malfoy stood aboard his ship, the Emerald Serpent, surveying the open sea that stretched out before him in a never-ending expanse of blue. Many in his line of work despised this form of travel, preferring Apparition or Portkey, but as intercontinental travel by magical means was not yet a possibility, even wizards had to resort to the ancient Muggle way. Draco did not mind in the slightest; he found he was well suited for the ocean and enjoyed that it took him away from the politics of Court. He was sure one day the Ministry would discover a way to accomplish intercontinental travel by magical means, but until that day he relished his freedom on the high seas.

He knew his grandfather Abraxas would have preferred Draco take after him and become Chancellor under King Riddle, but Draco had no interest in such things and made that clear very early on, much to Abraxas' and even his father Lucius' disapproval. Yet still, the business of carting Muggles across the oceans where they would serve their wealthy Pureblood masters was highly profitable and Draco found himself becoming a very wealthy man. His mother, Narcissa, was pushing for him to settle down, constantly throwing names of highborn ladies that would jump at the opportunity to marry into the Malfoy family, but Draco had no intention of becoming linked to a witch yet.

Settling down meant many things for Draco, but chief among them meant he would be obligated to return to Malfoy Manor, likely take up a position at the Ministry since the Malfoys were known for their loyalty to the Riddle royals, and become suffocated with the duties required of him. He probably shouldn't be complaining-being a favorite at the Ministerial Court did have its benefits-only, the court intrigue could be rather stifling. Draco had no delusions of how successful he would be once he took up the post expected of him, but at this point it was the pursuit of wealth he was after.

The Malfoy name was associated with power and royal favor back in Britain, but years of Ministerial servitude and measly income from political subjection left the family coffers dwindling. They were even forced to give up holdings in the Americas and Spain, retaining only the Manor and their villa in France. Of course they were still arguably well-endowed, but when Draco returned, he would see to it that the vaults at Gringotts were overflowing like the days of old.

It was one thing to hold favor with the King, but King Riddle was also known for his paranoia and he was content to see wealthy houses relying on his good graces. Most houses were happy to own a Manor well stocked with slaves but Draco meant to restore the house of Malfoy to its former glory. His father and grandfather may not understand and it may be a dangerous path to navigate, but it was his chosen task nonetheless even if it was the King's view that a house too powerful could fund uprisings such as the Potter rebellion.

The Potter rebellion, Draco scoffed inwardly. What rubbish. The filthy Half-blood was causing all sorts of trouble on his once peaceful seas. Truthfully, no one could have conceived of how one Half-blood could acquire such a force at his beckoning, but then no respectable Pureblood would lower themselves to recruit Muggle-borns in their service. Muggle-borns, or rather Mudbloods. It was despicable what the Potter bloke was up to. Word had it, Potter was recruiting Mudbloods from all over the world, especially in the Americas and Africa. What was worse, he was teaching them magic. It was a disgrace as well as highly illegal. King Riddle was in a frenzy over it. The last time Draco ventured to court, the King mandated all seabound vessels be fitted with strong defensive magic, capable of apprehending the rebels and bringing them back to the King's justice. Even swift merchant ships such as Draco's were not immune to this law.

What was even more alarming: No one knew quite how many ships Potter had at his command. The Order of the Phoenix, as they liked to go by, attacked strategically and stealthily. What was more, they were hitting the wizarding world where it hurt, for transporting indentured slaves was a highly lucrative business for all parties involved. Especially carting Muggles from afar and bringing them to underserved areas. The Pureblood families in Oceania—the Kings, the Mortons, the Kumars, the Singhs, the Kelleys...they had much need of Muggle aid.

As much as Draco himself was benefiting, the King was benefiting far more off of the tedious endeavor. Muggles were under population control and kept just rare enough that they called for a high price. It seemed nearly every type of wizard could benefit from these workers. Magic could provide much, but it could not conjure food or money—they still needed field hands to work and toil the land. With the dwindling population of house elves, the wizarding world relied on their inferiors for tasks they could not accomplish magically. Potter dealt them a damaging blow; every ship he overtook, subsequently freeing the slaves; hidden bases he was setting up to train Muggle-borns; and house elves he tricked masters into freeing…they were mostly small victories for the enemy but detrimental just the same.

"Captain," Blaise Zabini, his first mate called. "We've set a course for Southport and the winds are favorable."

"We should reach Oceania in two fortnights if the winds stay like this," agreed Theodore Nott. Draco appraised his former school chums and now, most trusted friends. The trio had been inseparable in their school days and when Draco decided to skirt his political duties in favor of the open waters, they were quick to join him on what they hoped to be many adventures.

"If they don't, we'll simply have to cast a weather-modification charm," Draco said.

Theodore and Blaise exchanged looks. "It's very draining on the men to keep up a charm like that for a given period, Captain," Theodore volunteered tentatively.

"Even so, we cannot keep a leisurely pace for long." Draco's tone brooked no argument. "Just hope the winds stay in our favor."

"If we employed more men it would be easier to keep up the charms," Blaise said.

"Yes." Draco paused in his pacing, drumming his fingers over the wooden edge of the ship. "But that means we would have to share our cut with more. No, ten is enough. We may be outnumbered in a skirmish but we have wands as well as the swiftest vessel on these waters."

"But what if we run into Order members, is ten really enough?" said Theodore.

"We have ten trained wizards," Blaise reminded him.

"That coupled with the King's new trigger wards and curse-repelling charms and we should be impervious to an attack," Draco said.

Theodore nodded stiffly as the wizards continued circling the deck.

"The cargo?" said Draco. "How do they fare?"

"We have the thirteen we picked up in Charleston and the seven that have been with us since Britain," said Blaise.

"Seven." Draco's brows furrowed in displeasure. "I thought we had nine when we left."

"We lost two during the voyage, Captain," Theodore said.

"How did that happen?" Draco said. "Jones specializes in healing, does he not?"

"Yes, but he would never lower himself to treat Muggles." Blaise scowled his revulsion. "Besides, the Muggles were already weak when they arrived."

"He'd better start lest our cut gets smaller and smaller." A muscle twitched by Draco's jaw. "I'm going down there myself. I would like to ensure their conditions are decent for the rest of the journey."

Blaise and Theodore followed Draco below deck where they met Crabbe and Goyle looking quite comfortable as they guarded the prisoners' chambers.

"Step lively," Theodore called. "We bring the Captain with us." The two lumbering fools clambered up to their feet to greet their Captain.

Draco surveyed the state of the prisoners. They were forced in close confines with each other, most of them staring with unseeing eyes off into space. They looked skinny and malnourished and most looked seasick. He sneered in distaste. "Crabbe, Goyle," he snapped. "What is this I hear about losing two of our Muggles?"

"The one was sick I believe, sir," Crabbe replied. "Got the other one sick, too, I'd wager."

"Don't you know you're to quarantine the sick ones lest they infect the others." Draco spoke as if addressing a child. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged looks with each other. "Muggle diseases are a nasty business. Be sure they do not all succumb to the same fate!"

"Yes, Captain," both men said.

Draco surveyed the group of pathetic creatures. They reeked of filth, which proclaimed loudly what they were. Most averted their gazes, but there was one girl dressed in a dirty white frock that caught his attention. She was mostly hidden under a thick array of wild, brown curls, but Draco caught a flash of intelligence gracing her features before she quickly ducked her head.

"It looks like you've been forgetting to feed them." Draco winced in irritation. "Do I need to elect someone else to watch our cargo? Perhaps they are too valuable to entrust to the two of you."

"No, Captain," Crabbe said quickly as Goyle shook his head vigorously. Theodore and Blaise continued to look on the scene in distaste. "You can count on us."

"Very well," Draco said. "And for Salazar's sake throw some water on the lot of them. The stench is appalling. They are worth an obscene amount of galleons, so you'd better take this task seriously."

"Of course, Captain, we will not fail in our duties," Crabbe, arguably the brighter of the two, said.

"See that you don't," Draco said. "I'll trust you to know what will wait you should you fail."

The men steeled in their tracks as Draco's threats hit home, while Blaise and Theodore sniggered. Draco shot them both a look before turning to leave. As he was departing, he noticed once more the girl in white and covered in grime. She had looked up again to watch him as he left and this time he was sure he sensed awareness—too much awareness for a mere Muggle. The girl quickly ducked her head again after being caught staring and he shook off the odd curiosity that had sprung up unbidden regarding her. Draco did not know why he felt so bothered by the girl's presence and couldn't shake off the annoyance for the rest of the day. Little did he know his day was going to get much worse.

 **000**

Grasping at the bars that held her confined, Hermione wondered idly if she could break them. They weren't even magically bound. She had to scoff at the fact that her Pureblood captors were so daft they did not even bother to ward their prisoners properly. Only, it was not like she'd have anywhere to go if she did escape the confines of her crowded prison, so perhaps they had the right idea. Not only that, but she suspected she was the only Muggle-born among the prisoners, a fact she wished to remain a secret.

How she was ever able to live this long and not be discovered was beyond her, but she still had escaped a life sentence in Azkaban for her Muggle-born heritage, and it felt surprisingly liberating to be off of the Ministry's radar. You weren't discreet enough to not be fired by the Hornbys, she reminded herself snidely. For it was true, though the Hornbys could not prove it, did not suspect her, they did think trouble followed her wherever she went. As a girl, it was hard to control her magic when being teased or picked on by the Hornbys, or even worse—their cousins. Iit was difficult not to let her magic slip accidentally. She grew accustomed to pining it off as something else and quickly learned to control it, but the stigma stayed with her just the same and ultimately Lady Hornby sold her off to the wild lands of Australia.

Perhaps life will be better out there, the optimistic side of her proposed, perhaps there will be more chances to read and learn. That was what Hermione hated most about serving the Hornbys; they did not have a well-stocked library by far. She risked her life reading the meager supply of books they did have and those weren't near enough. She was able to deduce that what it was she was teaching herself was wandless magic, something highly illegal for someone with her birth as well as very uncommon to conquer. She wished she was able to practice freely, learn freely. She envied Olive, who was permitted to go to school and learn magic at the age of eleven, even if she was awful at it. The only good thing about Olive's studies was that sometimes she would bring a book home with her, which gave Hermione a chance to practice more spells. Olive was more concerned with the wizards in her year than studying magic.

Speaking of wizards, Hermione had to kick herself at being caught staring, not once but twice, at her captor. She couldn't help it, really; there was something about the high-born blond that Hermione found…interesting. Unlike the oafs guarding her, she could tell Draco Malfoy was a powerful wizard. She sensed it rolling off of him in waves. He may lead a rag-tag group of miscreants, but he himself was quite accomplished, she was sure. She hadn't the opportunity before to evaluate him closely, but when he had come below deck she was able to obtain an up-close view of him, shrouded in the shadows though he was, and really see him for the first time. She felt embarrassed being huddled with the Muggles. She could tell they were weak and beaten down from a hard life of enslavement, but still she wished they had some fight left in them. She certainly did.

Even with being in the precarious state she was in, Hermione could not help but look closely at the wizard. He was tall and lithe and carried himself in a confident manner. His complexion was fair and he had hair the shade of the most platinum blond that she'd ever seen. Well, of course-he is a Malfoy, you ninny, Hermione chided herself. The Malfoy family were notorious throughout Britain and with that aristocratic nose and cold silver eyes, Hermione knew this was the infamous Draco Malfoy Olive and her friends were besotted with. It was difficult not to be curious; she was hardly ever in the presence of a wizard. She had this fantasy that one day she would run into a witch or wizard who would recognize her talent and skill, endeavoring to take her under their wing and teach her about magic. At twenty years old, that had never even come close to happening. It was a silly dream and Hermione knew it was best to shutter her hopes of that ever happening. Still, she hoped that when the ship made it to Southport, a new life would be awaiting her, maybe even a better one.

Taking comfort in this small hope for the future, it was at this point that Hermione felt herself jolted from her sitting position on the floor. The Muggles cried out in alarm as they felt a strong tremor pass through the ship.

"What was that?" said the one called Goyle.

"I'm not sure," Crabbe said. "But it feels like someone has attacked our wards."

Hermione felt her heart rate quicken at her temples with this bit of news. Who would attack a Pureblood vessel commissioned by the King himself? She felt another tremor take the ship and she ricocheted perilously. She put her ear up to the bars attempting to hear the voices above.

"They've breached our shield," someone called.

"But how can that be?" another said.

"They used light magic," one yelled. "The shield only repels dark curses."

Hermione took a deep breath, steadying herself as she tried to divulge this news. She heard the unmistakable sound of a cannon go off and in no time, rip through the ship. She was on high alert now, her body going into survivor mode as she realized she needed to escape and do so quickly.

Crabbe and Goyle heard the voices above deck as well, and they too were thrown off by the cannon blasts. "Blimey, Crabbe," Goyle said. "Someone's gone and bloody attacked us."

"I wager it's that Potter fellow," Crabbe said. Potter, Hermione thought, that name sounds familiar. "Come on, we'd better get up there and help."

"B-but we are tasked with watching the prisoners," Goyle said, pointing a finger at the Muggles who were gathered in a panic around her.

Crabbe shot them a scathing look. "They aren't going anywhere. Come on, sounds like they're overwhelmed up there. Captain will have our necks if we don't come to their aid."

Goyle followed resolutely behind Crabbe, gripping his wand tightly. She fixed her gaze on the wand, enviously wondering what it'd be like to hold one—to yield one's power through it. At that moment, another cannon blast jostled the ship, propelling Hermione hard into the bars in front of her. Her ribcage throbbed with pain as she tried to get out from underneath the Muggle man pushing her against the bars.

"Let us out," a woman wailed, as blasts and curses riddled the ship.

Hermione snapped at the people behind her. "Quiet!" Then, to herself: "Now, let me think."

"The ship's been hit badly," a Muggle man pointed out. "It's sinking."

"We are all going to drown!" a teenage girl cried.

Hermione tried to ignore the frenzied people. Gripping the bars in front of her, she focused her magic, letting her power run through her hands as she tried to remember everything she could on Transfiguation. Willing the two bars to turn into ropes in front of her, she felt them grow hot and glow red underneath her fingers as the power coursed through. She gave a triumphant sigh of relief as the bars turned to ropes and coiled quickly down by her feet. With more than enough room to slip out now, Hermione quickly clamored out of the space. She was suddenly halted as an arm reached out to grab her.

"You can do magic like them," a man said fearfully. "That isn't allowed." She made to wrench her arm free but he did not allow her to do so.

"Look," she said, growing exasperated now, "we are going to be stuck down here; I did us all a favor, now let's get out."

"I'll have to tell them," the man said, shaking his head, and she grew fearful at his implication as the others watched.

Enraged, Hermione tried another tactic. "Look, you're right, I can do magic, and I'll do some on you if you do not let go this instant!" The man let go immediately as if he'd been burned.

Hermione wasted no time climbing up the wooden stairs, not bothering to look back. There was no way she could save everyone, but perhaps she could save herself. Once she got aboard deck, she quickly saw the ship had been nearly ripped in two. She saw the Captain blocking curses from all different directions while dodging out of the way of what she now saw was magically-aided cannon blasts. Parts of the ship were splintered and flying to the water below. She pressed herself closely against the wall of the cabin as she stealthily attempted to sneak around the other side of the ship. She hoped there was a boat or something she could use.

"Who let the prisoners out?" said one of her captors, but no one deigned answer him, so caught up was everyone in the fight. In fact, she sensed it was almost ended and this ship was most definitely on the losing side. She inwardly lamented when she discovered the lifeboats were shrunken. Gods, but I don't have the time for this, she thought, while already climbing onto the ledge of the ship to focus on what the spell would be to unshrink them. Perhaps she could simply will it? Hermione did not get the chance to do either as another blast shot through the vessel and sent her tumbling over the ledge into the crisp, cool waters below.

She sunk deep in the ocean and sensed a turmoil within the watery depths as the ship above was cracking dangerously. She pushed herself upwards, seeking air, wishing she knew how to cast a bubble charm. She gasped for much-needed breaths as she reached the surface and then looked around for something she could hold onto. She saw a broken piece of the ship's bow floating a ways away and hurriedly swam over to the slip of wood. She grasped on to it gratefully and then looked up to survey the scene above her. She heard other splashes around her from what could only be other bodies falling into the water and then recognized that the fighting had stopped.

The others ship's crew were boarding the decimated craft and she wondered what could be on board that they would risk venturing onto the sinking vessel. Hermione knew they were being carted with magical creatures-she recognized some nifflers that would surely fetch a good price in Oceania-but could not fathom them coming aboard just for that. She quickly surveyed the area. Taking stock of things, she knew she was somewhere in the Caribbean. They had to be; the water was not near as cold as the Atlantic should be. She needed to get far away from the wreckage; it would not do to escape just to be captured by even more ruthless captors. She had no idea which way to float but hoped she was near some kind of land and the water would lead in that direction. In Merlin's name, please let that be the case, she thought warily.

She was paddling with the water when a flash of blond caught her eyes. The Captain, she thought as she recognized him immediately. Instinctively, she made to paddle towards his floating figure, which she saw was beginning to sink. Unsure what prompted her to do so, she abandoned her safety device and dove into the water following the wizard into the depths below. She knew the water here was cerulean blue and quite clear in the day, but in the darkness of night she couldn't see anything and swept her hands blindly in front of her. She felt her fingers brush against something incredibly soft and recognized it immediately as his hair. Getting a hold of it, she yanked with all her might until she brought them both back up to the surface.

Once she was above the water again and now holding his dead weight, she looked for her wood, which was already floating away. Exasperated, Hermione tried to pull him toward it. Faster, she thought and she felt herself gliding through the water easily at her internal demand. Upon reaching the wood, Hermione noticed it was far too small to carry the weight of both of them. Doing some quick thinking, she remembered a Transfiguration charm that expanded objects, and focused all her exhausted might on doing so. The wood creaked and groaned but did as she willed, and Hermione watched it transform to an even larger state that looked more like a raft than anything. She awkwardly pull herself up, while trying not to tip the thing as she attempted to keep hold of the Captain. Once she was safely aboard, she used all her existing strength to pull the wizard on with her. He landed roughly on top of her and she found herself now squished with the dead weight of him.

Annoyed and bordering on exhaustion, she was tempted to just stay underneath the Captain, before finally scrambling out from under him. She was about to lie beside him when she noticed several supply barrels bobbing by. Hermione groaned at the realization of what she needed to do, but, steeling herself, jumped back in the water and grabbed a hold of two of the barrels, towing them back to her raft. Once she reached the raft, she pulled herself on again, this time holding onto the ropes of the barrels. Looking over at Malfoy, she noticed he had been hit with a Stupefy. There must have been a lot flying at him for one to hit home, she mused. Odd that they would cast merely a Stupefy and not a darker curse.

Securing the ropes to the raft and vowing that the barrels better have something useful in them, Hermione could not even begin to cast an Innerviate on him, simply as she'd never tried and she was completely depleted. I'll just lie down for a bit, she thought, even as she plopped her head down with a bang. She did not even have the strength to wince at the impact. She allowed herself to close her eyes for only a moment.…

When she opened them again, the sky was much lighter. She estimated she had dozed off and it was very early morning. Still overcome with exhaustion, it was all Hermione could do to lift her head and take stock of her surroundings. There was ocean as far as the eye could see until she ripped her head around, spotting the tell-tell sign of land. Hermione felt a burst of energy at the prospect of safety, having had enough of the twenty-one days she'd spent at sea—the land was calling to her. Paddling with all her might, she made for the direction of land whilst willing any power she possessed to help her reach it quicker. It seemed like it took forever, but she started to make out things; lush greenery upon the shore, palm trees swaying in the breeze, birds flying through the air...she was almost there.

Determining she was close enough, Hermione abandoned the raft but held onto it as she led the wood easier through the small waves until she felt sand at her feet. She cherished the feeling and worked with a vigor to reach the beach. The raft quickly became stuck on the sand and she had to pull Malfoy off as she dragged him up the shore to where she deemed was safe before returning for the barrels. Once she deposited that a ways from the water, she plopped down hard next to him as she watched the sea lapping up the shore.

Her eyes feeling heavy, Hermione started when she heard a groan next to her. He is finally waking. What impeccable timing, she thought in irritation.

The Captain brought himself painfully up to a sitting position as he took stock of his surroundings, bleary-eyed and befuddled. The confusion did not stop when he turned to see Hermione sitting primly next to him, clutching her now soaked, thin dress that had seen much better days, as she tried to keep the shivers at bay.

Eyeing her intently, he finally asked, "Where are my men and where is my ship?"

"I imagine they are lying on the bottom of the Atlantic right about now," Hermione said in a helpful tone. The Captain was not amused. Hermione could not summon the energy to care as she welcomed the blackness and let it finally overcome her.

 **000**


	2. Chapter 2: Different Worlds

**A/N: Thank you to those that have followed, favorited, and reviewed and a special thanks to the-bravo-angel from Tumblr for the lovely art and Riddlesgurlforever for the prompt! Please R &R C:**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

 **000**

Hermione felt herself being jostled roughly. She groaned as she rolled over to her side, away from the persistent badgering. The shoving didn't stop and only picked up at an annoying rate. She tried to ignore it but was hard pressed to do so, especially when an equally irritating voice joined the shaking. She stretched luxuriously, arching her chest in the air. She heard a curse but refused to open her eyes.

"Get up, Muggle," came the haughty demand. "Is it your intention to sleep forever and have me do all the work?"

Muggle, she repeated in her head blearily. All of a sudden, thoughts from the previous night began to come back to her. Gods—it feels like it's been ages, she thought. Against her will, she rolled over onto her back slowly and opened her eyes, swollen from sleep.

She was greeted by an insolent face sneering down at her; striking blond hair framed a bright halo around the pompous figure's head. She peered up for only a moment before the brightness became too overwhelming and she was forced to shut her eyes again, this time rolling onto her stomach.

"Oh, no, you don't," came the voice once more. She felt herself being wrenched to her feet. She tried to anchor herself to the ground but the soft, white sand slipped easily through her fingers. "You've rested long enough."

"What the bloody hell," she swore—she was so not a morning person. "Haven't I done enough already? Am I not permitted a moment's peace?" She scrambled away from his harsh grip and glared up, defiantly.

"A moment?" The man Hermione now realized was the Captain—Malfoy, as her memories came groggily, snarled at her. "Or two days, because that's how long you've been asleep."

She swallowed audibly as she surveyed the scene around her. They were gathered in a clearing edged by palm trees but they couldn't be far from the beach because Hermione could still hear the gentle lapping of the waves.

She gasped as she remembered her final moment before fainting from exhaustion. "I passed out," she said, thinking aloud. Her eyes flew back to his and her glare turned accusatory. "That means you must have carried me back here."

A flicker of irritation passed his face. "The tide was-." He clenched his teeth and his eyes grew steely. "Look here, Muggle; I can't very well have my only slave being swept back into the sea."

"Muggle," Hermione huffed. "I have a name, actually. So you'd best start using it if you hope to get a response from me." She turned promptly to leave.

"Why, you insolent wench," he muttered, reaching out a hand to halt her. "Where in Salazar's name do you think you're going?"

"I'm parched," she said. "Is it too much to hope you've located any fresh water?"

"I-," he faltered, and a muscle clenched by his eye. "I haven't."

"What have you been drinking? Hell, what've you been eating, for that matter?"

He said nothing in response and Hermione gasped in surprise.

"You mean to say," she began incredulous. "You've had nothing to eat or drink in two days? Gods, you are helpless out here, aren't you?"

It was the wrong thing to say, Hermione soon realized, as he grasped her easily around her throat. Malfoy's stare was murderous as he throttled her, and she had to wonder at her uncanny ability to make people lose their temper.

"You filthy Muggle bint," he spat. "That you would dare speak to me in such a way. Clearly you've a death wish." He squeezed ever so slightly around her slim neck for emphasis.

As the adrenaline rushed to her head, she did the only thing she could think of and kicked him squarely in the groin. He let out a yelp of pain, dropping her, and Hermione turned once again to flee the scene. She was pulled back into the insufferable man's clutches once more and she let out a sigh of exasperation; he was a fortress for so lithe a figure.

He pushed her to the sandy floor, grasping her wrists above her head and putting a leg around her hips, effectively pinning her.

Leaning down, he spoke in a dangerously low tone, "So you do have a death wish."

Hermione took that moment to rear herself up and head-butt him. He swore and her head throbbed immediately from the impact but at least she'd caused him pain, as well. "Filthy Muggle tactics," he muttered.

"You seem very at ease with using these Muggle tactics."

"If you value your life-"

"If I value my life what?" She tried in vain to sit up. "It seems to me I saved your life and it's you who owes me. Don't you wizards have a name for that?"

Malfoy furrowed his brow in annoyance.

"Oh, yes," she said, smirking. "As I understand it, it's called—a life debt."

His features steeled again, but he loosened his grip on her. "That hardly applies to Muggles."

Ignoring him, she took that moment to pull herself into a sitting position. "Now, you clearly need my help to get through this. What is it you do again? Oh yes, shout out orders to others and cart slaves across the oceans—a lot of good that'll do you here."

"I also am quite proficient in magic." He straightened up imperiously. "Not that I need to remind a pathetic Muggle like you about that."

"Enough with the names. I'm Hermione. That's what you can call me. Give it a try."

He scowled. She raised her eyebrows. "Have it your way," he said. "Hermione."

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" She smiled. "And what shall I call you?"

"Well...Captain is a bit formal. I suppose you can call me Master."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. If you aren't going to be forthcoming, I suppose I'll simply have to figure it out myself. Blond hair, sharp features, ever-present sneer; obviously you're a Malfoy—so that's what I'll call you."

"I'm impressed," he said sitting back. "My reputation precedes me, even to lowly Muggles such as yourself."

"Right, then," she said, ignoring him as she got to her feet. "So what have you done so far? Have you procured a shelter? You must have been drinking something."

He nodded over to the vegetation edging the clearing. "Those big leaves over there. They accumulate water during the night. I save it in that conch shell. I usually fill half a shell a day."

"Not bad," she admitted, pacing. "Only, that's not near enough water to sustain us. On the raft, this island looked rather large—it is an island, isn't it?"

"As far as I can tell. Though it must be uncharted; I didn't see it on the map."

"Well, it looked like there were hills, at least one larger one. It stands to reason there would be a freshwater source if we go more inland."

"I suppose," he said. "In my explorations I haven't ventured too far into the vegetation—without my wand I couldn't be sure I'd find y-where the supplies were again."

"I see. She nodded. "Your exploring abilities inspire much confidence." He merely scowled in return. "You know, you shouldn't rely one hundred percent on magic. There is a certain amount of basic knowledge and logic you need to possess."

"I am more than capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much," he snapped.

Hermione put her hands up, "Alright, alright. I'm sure that's true. Never mind that, there were some barrels—I secured them to the raft. Did you get them—and what about the raft? It'd make a good shelter."

"It's over there," he said, motioning to a nearby palm tree.

"Very good. Have you opened them—the barrels?"

"I got one of them opened. The other seems to be magically sealed."

I'll deal with that later, she thought. "Well, what's in the one you opened?"

"Black beans and white rice."

"And have you cooked them?" she said, running over. "I'm famished."

"I can't seem to get a fire going," he muttered. "And as hungry as I am, it's very unpleasant to eat the beans and rice uncooked."

Hermione held back a snicker. "I'd imagine." She quirked her lips in amusement. "Where's your kindling?"

"Right there. "He pointed.

She went over to it. "This won't do," she said, kneeling down. "You're supposed to use the twigs to make the tepee and put the tendering in the center. Fetch more branches and twigs of various sizes."

Malfoy grumbled as he left the clearing. Hermione turned her head just so, watching him leave. Once she was satisfied he was far enough away, she whispered, "Incendio." Immediately a small fire came to life. She smiled proudly at her work.

"Malfoy! Never mind, I've got it. I guess you'd gathered enough stuff after all."

"Really?" He quickly reappeared at her side. "I've tried to get it going for the past two days and you get it going in a few seconds."

"I suppose that should teach you not to write off everything just because it's Muggle." She did not feel the least bit guilty for her deception.

He said nothing in return, merely frowning. Hermione took a large stick and worked to secure dried leaves around it with a bit of vine. She dipped it into the fire before kicking the flames out, then handed the makeshift torch to Malfoy.

"Now, the next order of business is to make a shelter. Preferably by a water source and hopefully by something large we can lean the raft on. We've got to venture more inland for this, so let's go."

She made her way quickly towards the raft and meager supplies. She placed one barrel on the raft and looked expectantly at Malfoy. He sighed as he hurried to grab the other barrel. They both caught hold of the ropes still anchored to the raft and began pulling it with them to the edge of the clearing.

"We've got to hurry," she said. "There's much to do while there is still light in the day."

"Says the one who slept through the morning."

Hermione cast a sideways glance at him. "You'll be singing a different tune once I fix us some food."

"Really?" He perked up at this. "Can't you make some now? Merlin, but I miss my house elf."

"Soon. First we have to find a safe place to set up camp. And we'll have to come back to the beach to fetch some shells and things to cook with."

Hermione hurried on eagerly, feeling optimistic at the work ahead of her. It would be grueling to get everything set up, but she was confident she could, with the help of Malfoy, make their camp livable and maybe even comfortable. For the first time in a long time, she was looking forward to the work ahead of her.

 **000**

Draco was exhausted by the time Hermione was finally satisfied with the location of the raft. Just as the intolerable girl had predicted, there was indeed a freshwater source inland and not very far off from the beach; he was surprised he hadn't heard it, actually. He had been unwilling to venture farther; without his wand to point him he was worried he would have trouble finding where he left her. The island was quite large, as he soon discovered from walking to one end of the beach just to see the shoreline curve and the view of a strikingly high cliff. He meant to explore further, but was tired, thirsty, and hungry. Besides that, he needed her to wake up so he could continue his explorations. Now that she was awake, he found himself wishing she was in her eternal slumber once more—the girl did know how to prattle on.

"Now, isn't that better?" she called. "By lowering it onto the barrels, we raise the structure higher and can actually stand under it."

"Yes," he huffed, unbuttoning his shirt. He was quickly becoming hot and the workload was really making him feel stifling. Hermione had insisted they make what she called a lean-to structure—placing the raft up against a natural surface. The trees were too small in width, but when they'd discovered the hillside with the waterfall that fell into a calm pool beside a cliff, she declared it was the perfect place. He couldn't agree more.

They had both scrambled up to the pool's side and fell to their knees as they began scooping the water greedily into their mouths. Draco had tasted salt water for days, despite the meager droplets from the leaves, and relished the taste of the cool, crisp liquid as it quenched his thirst.

"You know," Hermione had said, interrupting his bliss. "We really should boil this water for at least two or three minutes. Just in case."

"Mhm," Draco had said, more so to shut her up, but neither of them stopped drinking. They both had fallen to their backs afterward, enjoying the shaded canopy that encased the pool and the soft, solid ground—so different from the white sandy beach.

She was the first to get up. "Alright, then," she started, seemingly comfortable in spouting off orders. Draco would be offended if he'd had the energy to be, but as it was he was content to let her think she was in charge…for now. "We'll place the raft just there, against that cliff. Should be a sturdy enough spot."

"I still don't understand how this raft came from my ship," Draco said. "It's convenient—yes. But I don't see what it used to be part of."

"Hm. Perhaps it was the product of some of those renegade spells hitting it."

He supposed that could be a possibility. "Perhaps."

She placed the torch she had so easily created into the earth, and they started setting up their structure. Draco quickly became exasperated as the bloody wench constantly changed her mind. Finally she'd settled on a spot and said, "Would help against the island winds," and he'd set it up, only to have her declare it wasn't tall enough. They put down the barrels and soon anchored the makeshift structure on top of it and against the cliff. Draco wished he had his wand, if not just to put some well-placed sticking charms, but thought it would have to do.

"That'll do for now," she said, and Draco tried not to let his irritation at her dismissive tone break through the surface. "This is the perfect spot, actually. There are guava, papaya, and mango trees. Not to mention the endless supply of coconuts. Those mangoes look fairly ripe; let's shake that tree."

He hadn't even thought of locating fruit trees, and none of these fruits looked familiar to him. He wondered how she came to know so much about seemingly everything.

Together, they shook the tree, and Draco allowed for a small smile when six of the odd fruits came falling to the ground. They sat in a comfortable silence then, eating through the mangos quickly. He found he was still starved for more, but Hermione looked like she was ready to get back to work after their small supper.

"Do you think you can go back to the beach and get some more of those conch shells? Or anything that will do for the bowls or cups would be good. I can go into the pool and grab some rocks. Also, I want to collect some palm leaves to use as padding for the structure."

Draco hesitated, not because he was fearful of leaving her alone-no, certainly not because of that. He merely wasn't sure if he could trust the girl.

As if she could tell what he was thinking, she said, "Fine, I'll go with you to the beach. But we could get done much more quickly if we split up, you know."

"We'll get it done quick enough," he said, and they trudged off in the direction of the shore.

In no time, they reached their destination. Draco looked out longingly to the endless sea of blue, wondering what had happened to his ship…and his men.

Again, she seemed to have the uncanny ability to read him. "Hopefully they were taken prisoner. The pirates probably thought they could ransom them to the king."

"I doubt Potter the Pirate takes prisoners," he said with a sneer. "Even so, I wager my father will dispatch a ship to look for me. It won't be too long before I'm found."

Hermione gulped as she knelt to pick up shells. "You're right; we should keep a bonfire burning at all times," she said, working diligently. Draco stayed standing as he surveyed the beach. "Malfoy, who is this Potter?"

"No one you need to concern yourself with," Malfoy said hotly. "I'm going to grab some of these rocks and make a fire pit so others can see our signal."

"What if it's Potter who sees the signal? Or other pirates."

Malfoy hesitated. "Perhaps I won't light the signal yet. They could very well still be in the area." He thought he saw her breathe a sigh of relief. "Don't get too comfortable," he warned. "I wouldn't want you to get too used to speaking to your betters so freely. It won't be long until we reach society once more and you'll need to take up your rightful place."

She fixed him with a scathing look. He smirked in response.

"Now that you're done with the fire pit we aren't even going to use yet, why don't you gather some more of those big, fat rocks and roll them over here. We need to fix them in a V formation where the water is calm. Likely this is where we'd find the most fish."

"What good will that do?"

"At high tide, many of the fish will find themselves in our lagoon. During low tide they'll be stuck in there and easier to catch. We will have to make some sort of spear, though."

"Alright," he said as he walked toward the rocks. Already the small meal they'd shared seemed to be wearing off; he was not used to manual labor. Once again, she seemed to notice, too.

"How did you lose your wand?" she said. Having gathered enough shells in her frock, she dumped them on the sand and came to help him with the rocks.

He rolled two rocks at a time as he answered her. "During the fight. I did not realize how quickly my men would be overcome. It was just me and two others left fighting. There were so many spells coming at once, I had no choice but to dodge them. I jumped on the ledge of the ship and another hit me square in the chest. That's when I blacked out, falling overboard, I suppose. My wand was in my hand."

"You should keep a spare or something," she said, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. Draco eyed her in irritation; everything was so simple for her, wasn't it? "Place the rocks closer together," she said. "We don't want any of them slipping out."

Once they were finished, they both got up, dusting the sand off their clothes. Draco was turning around toward the jungle when something caught his eyes. "Look there." He pointed.

Hermione turned, noticing immediately what he was pointing to. "It looks like a crate of some kind." They both took off running toward it.

"Supplies from the wreckage," he said as they made it to the crate. "We had a few of these on board. Hopefully there is something in here that'll be useful."

Draco lifted the lid allowing a flicker of excitement to surface. He was quickly let down as he saw the contents. "It's only clothes," he said, waving his hand dismissively.

"It's just what we needed," she said, fingering the expensive dresses longingly. Draco wondered if she imagined wearing something so extravagant; her eyes widened at the sight of it, but she soon snapped out of it. "These will make great pillows. And look, there are trousers and shirts under the two dresses…and a feather down blanket."

"Yes, but those are soaked."

"They won't be for long," she said, waving him off. "What else do we have?"

Noticing the small wooden box, he opened it. "It's some useless spices," he said, throwing the box her way.

"Those aren't useless," she replied, snatching up the box. "Salt, pepper, garlic, and chili. I can fix up some savory food with them."

Draco's mouth watered at the sound of it.

"There's another box," she said, handing it to him. "Can you get it open?"

He popped open the box. "It's a collection of blades."

"I bet we can sand that one, use it as a spoon. And that one would make a good spear if we could secure it to a stick. See, Malfoy, highly useful things in here."

"I suppose," he said, as they began placing the goods on top of the dresses. He folded them back up and slung them over his shoulder.

He watched her wade into the water, lifting her skirt so she could step onto a nearby rock. She crouched low, seeming to look for something. "There's a big one," she called.

"Watch out for Shrakes," he said. "Nasty magical fish, and they run rampant in the Atlantic."

She reached into the water and grabbed ahold of something. "Here's dinner," she said with a proud smile and waving a clam in the air. She quickly made her way back to Draco and he offered his hand, helping her back up the beach.

She handed him the clam, then knelt down to gather up the shells once more. "That was successful. Let's go back to the camp."

They walked steadily back through the clearing, albeit slower now with their added load.

"Look," she said, pointing to a bright orange bird perched on a tree branch. "It's a Fwooper."

"Ugh, and I don't have my wand to cast a silencing charm. We're going to go crazy listening to it."

"No, we won't; that's merely an old wives' tale. It's a good thing it's singing; we know it won't rain tonight and these blankets can dry."

"Wait, how do you know so much about Fwoopers? Those are magical creatures. You aren't even supposed to see them."

"Perhaps I can because you're here," she said quickly. "Also, Lady Hornby had a picture book. It was on the table in the living room and I always dusted it."

"You can't actually read?" Shock flitted across his face. "Tell me you can't."

"I can't read." Then she skipped ahead of him as she made her way to their clearing and the waterfall. Draco watched her go; she was a slip of a thing. Her white dress was not so dirty now, having gone through a thorough scrubbing in the ocean, as did he before their fortunate arrival.

She smelled like the sea and he was sure she could indeed read.

"Hermione." He caught up to her as she deposited the shells by the camp and he dropped the load. "You served Lady Hornby then?"

"Yes." She slipped off her shoes and headed for the pool. "Can you take these rocks and make a fire pit by our camp? The torch is still lit, but we need more tinder." Draco began doing what he was told, if only to get her to cook already. "I served the Hornbys since I was a child," she said. "Most often, Olive."

"I went to school with her."

"Oh, I know," she called as she began collecting flat stones. "The notorious Draco Malfoy came up many times."

"Really?" Draco felt perturbed, yet slightly thrilled, at what she knew of him…and the way she says my name, he thought. Shaking off the odd sensation, he continued on listlessly. "I don't know why she'd need to mention me. She has no business doing so." The slag.

"To devise a plan to get you to marry her, of course," she said flippantly, as she rinsed and scoured the rocks. "Surely you must know many of the eligible witches who set their desires on you."

There was that thrill again. Draco swallowed. "Oh. Surely not so many."

"Yes. Believe me, it was exhausting to hear the meticulous planning, from all Olive's friends—the Greengrasses…the Parkinsons…the Bulstrodes." Then she looked up at him, and Draco was startled by the seriousness in her face. "But you didn't get caught in their trap right out of school like so many wizards. You actually got to lead a life of adventure, sort of." She climbed up the bank, the end of her wet dress dragging in the dirt as she made her way to the fire, and began stacking the stones as if they were plates.

She gets it, Draco thought, she gets it and I'm not sure if anyone has before. "That isn't it at all," he lied, watching her clean the clam with the blade. "I simply have work to do before I take up my station. Work that happens to be highly profitable."

"Yes, I'm sure carting slaves to the marketplace is highly profitable indeed. What a noble profession."

Draco winced inwardly at her crass words. He never really thought of it like that, but then he'd never met someone like her before. She was quite competent for a Muggle. Must be a fluke or something, he thought.

"There." She set the clam meat down. "Now, tie that vine hanging from the cliff to that tree and lay the clothes and blankets over it so they can dry. I'm going to relieve myself so if you wouldn't mind, give me some privacy. Also, I do need some kind of pot for the beans and rice."

With his stomach growling once more, Draco hastened to comply with the demanding girl. As he secured the vine and began hanging the drenched material, he marveled at all the work he was being forced to do. He longed for a hot bath with a dozen or so healing and aromatic potions. Was this how it was for the Muggle slaves? It must be maddening.

Before long, Hermione came trudging back with something colorful and sparkling in her hands and looking immensely pleased with herself.

"Is that a bloody Firecrab?" he said.

"A dead one. Can you clean it out? I think it will make a good pot."

"Wizards use them for cauldrons. Hermione, how did you kill it? They have a Ministry rating of XXX!" He ran a hand through his hair, disbelief and awe flashing over his face. "It takes a Rictumsempra to contain it and they are rare as well as valuable."

"It was already dead," she replied, shrugging. Draco fixed her with a probing look. "What? Don't tell me you think they're immortal or something."

"That's now the second magical creature you've identified," he said, crossing his arms in suspicion.

"Well, of course it is," she said, working diligently to prepare the clam. "I did serve in a magical household ever since I was a child."

Shrugging off his skepticism, he took the blade and began extracting the crab, all the while eyeing the rubies and emeralds encrusted in the shell. He had always identified with emeralds, even naming his ship after them—the Emerald Snake, which was now lying on the bottom of the sea, most likely.

It was his house color as well—emerald green. But that damned ruby red, it reminded him of another house, Gryffindor, and now—the fire and determination ever-present in her eyes. He shook the silly feeling off abruptly. He was tired and hungry and clearly not thinking straight. He quickly gave her the Firecrab's shell, surprised to see she'd made a makeshift stone hearth over the fire.

"Here you go, princess." He offered her the shell and she took it, rolling her eyes at the sarcastic pet name.

"It's magical so it won't burn up. But take care of it because it can fetch a hefty price when I return home. Merlin, I could retire with the galleons I could get."

Draco slumped down against the shelter and watched her work. She brought the water to boil inside the pot and added a scoop of beans and rice. She started cutting up slices of mango she then set aside, and began sprinkling spices into the cauldron. Through the smoke from the flames, Draco thought she almost looked like an actual witch. "So why did the Hornbys let you go? Clearly you're a competent slip of a thing."

Hermione froze briefly in her actions before resuming. "There were…incidents," she said. "I wasn't involved directly but I always seemed to get the blame somehow or another."

"Care to elaborate?"

"They just thought I was clumsy or cursed or something."

"Maybe you are cursed," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe you're the reason my ship was attacked."

She looked up quickly to meet his gaze and seemed startled by the intensity of it. She stared captivated for a moment before visibly shaking herself and offering him a plate.

"Grilled clam with mango slaw over seasoned rice and black beans. I think you'll like it."

Draco did like it; he liked it very much. Actually, he thought, this is probably the best meal I've had in my life, and not just because I haven't eaten in two days. He gave her a wily grin and then watched as she ate daintily with her forked twig.

"It's getting dark."

"Oh, yes." She got up to check the blankets closest to the fire. "I think this is ready." She took it over and sat next to him by the fire.

"That was quick," he said, brows furrowed. It was like he'd cast a warming charm; the blanket was already dried and warm to the touch.

"Yes," she said. "I'm exhausted."

"My mother used to tell me stories, by the fireplace." Draco felt contented and comfortable, watching the air around the fire in a trance.

"Oh, I know stories," she said enthusiastically.

"Oh? Well go on then, tell me one."

"It's about a merman," she hinted. "Have you heard it?"

"No, but sounds interesting."

Hermione settled back against the cliff, snuggling in the blanket they shared. "Well, it starts with a girl—Mirabella Plunkett was her name," she began. "She went with her family on holiday, to Loch Lomond. Straying away from the crowds, she ventured further down the shores and thought she saw something in the water. She leaned over the water's edge and spotted…a merman."

"A fresh water merman?" Draco was entranced by the way the fire danced in her eyes and lulled to a calm state by the food in his belly. "The fresh water merpeople are said to be ethereal in appearance."

"Yes. And so was this one. Why, he was the most strikingly handsome person Mirabella had ever seen."

"I imagine it was love at first sight," he said, sarcasm laced in his voice.

"Yes, but don't tease; it does happen, you know, and this is a true story." She slapped him playfully on the arm. "Anyway, the merman reciprocated her feelings. Yet, the Plunkett family did not take the news that their daughter had fallen in love with a merman in stride."

"Oh. A meddlesome family, then; I can empathize with that."

"Yes. In fact, they outright forbade her proposition to marry him. They were very displeased, you see."

"I can imagine."

"Her family did not revoke their decision, so dead set were they on not seeing the marriage take place. She was so upset, the last time her family saw her is when she transfigured herself into a haddock. Her little sister witnessed her do it; Mirabella's fish form flopped into Loch Lomond and was never seen or heard from again."

"So that's why she's on the Chocolate Frog card; I always wondered."

"I suppose. I only heard the story in passing, mind you. But I like to think Mirabella found a way to turn herself into a mermaid, so she could be with her one true love forever…and not just stuck in her haddock form."

"A romantic, then," Draco said. Hermione merely smiled in response. "I always saw Plunkett's portrait hanging in Hogwarts; it was just by the Entrance Hall. She was quite a stunning girl, with long, red hair…but her eyes…they were quite haunting. And she holds a hddock in her portrait." His voice had taken on a dream-like quality, but he quickly shook himself, adopting his usual snideness. "Probably because that was the form she was stuck in for the rest of her life. It's impossible for two people from different worlds to ever be together."

She was a little surprised by Draco's abrupt shift. "O-oh. Yes, well, I guess it is a bit of a fairy tale. Who knows what really happened? Well, I'll be getting to bed then. I'll clean up in the morning."

"Alright," he said, handing her the blanket. "Try not to sleep two days this time."

"I'll be up before you. Goodnight, Malfoy."

"Good night, princess." She was too tired to chide him on the nickname.

Draco watched her disappear into the shelter, wondering where he'd fit in the cramped space. He'd wait until she went to sleep, then he'd find a corner to curl up in. Hermione, the bloody girl was alluring—he was hard-pressed to deny it. She was determined, competent…and beautiful. What? Where had that come from? He certainly did not think she was beautiful. With that wild mane and stormy eyes...why, he'd been chased by beauties most his life, and she was definitely not like them. He was probably just sleep-deprived and thinking silly.

Among all the traits he noticed about the strange Muggle girl, he was most astounded by how knowledgeable she was. Was there anything the girl was not an expert on? Her magical knowledge was troubling, but he supposed Muggles did pick up some things while serving witches and wizards.

Hearing the steady sound of her breathing, Draco ventured into the shelter. He grabbed a corner of the blanket and nestled in the corner. His last conscious thought was a memory, a memory of how he'd quietly brought the water he'd collected in the shell the day before and dripped some into her mouth, satisfied when she'd instinctively drunk the liquid.

 **000**


	3. Chapter 3: The Order

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting! I'm doing something horrible and writing as I go. I'm very impatient for a Slytherin who is supposed to be cunning! One day, I'd like to have a story completely written and then post, wouldn't that be ideal? Until then, I will just have to do it this way. I've been on a Dramione kick lately, what with two facebook challenges (one sweet and rated T, though kind of a Tomione and another most definitely not rated T, both of which I can't wait to post once the challenge is over). Plus I have the next chapter of _A Past Erased_ written and it is just waiting to be BETA'd! It's been a productive month and I should have really written for my Tomione WIP but like I said, I've really been feeling Dramione so I just went where the muse took me! I've also recently delved into the world of Photoshop (such a distraction!) and have been doing some Dramione edits. Find me there or on FB if you like!**

 **Beta love to Carrington Shaw C:**

 **A big thanks to those that followed and favorited. Also, much love to the reviewers! helpfulfred, LeanaM, Alina, dragonlovermudblood, sleepgirl, tneha, chizarak, sugarspice92, Green Eyed Lana Lee, windyshoes, beth, daswhoiam, LaBellaVita212, Snaflopteryx, Landre, and the the guests-thanks so much for your feedback!**

* * *

 **000**

"I can't understand it," Harry Potter mused, leaning over the railing of his ship and staring at the endless sea of blue. "How could the compass have been off? It never has been before."

"Perhaps some fluke," Ronald Weasley, his first mate, suggested. "I told you it couldn't be right, but you wouldn't listen, would you?"

"It should be right," Harry said thoughtfully. "It's the creation of Bellatrix Black, herself. Many have died in search of her compass."

"I don't see why," Ronald scoffed. "It was easy enough to find on Devil's Rock."

"You say that now," Tracy Davis said as she slinked her arms around Harry's neck. "But it was Cho and Ginevra who broke that old hag's wards in the first place."

"Looked easy," Ronald argued.

Harry said nothing, instead, staring out over the ocean once more. How was it that the compass had led them astray? The compass was supposed to detect the presence of magic, glowing bright when sensing magic of the strongest sort. Only this particular artifact was geared towards tracking down the magic of Muggleborns. One did not need such a tool for Purebloods, as there was no denying when _they_ were around. The lot of them were haughty and superficial, proclaiming their presence loudly, save for his rag-tag team of bandits.

Sirius and Regulus Black, Neville Longbottom, Tracey and Tessie Davis, Cho Chang, Luna Lovegood, Cedric Diggory, and all the Weasleys. Not to mention the staggering amount of Muggleborns that had happily sworn their allegiance. Jeffrey, Alexandria, Pewter, and Minnie who were all part of his crew, in addition to those they had left back at Godric's Hollow to man the base.

Truthfully, the Resistance's numbers were swelling larger than he could have hoped for. Despite King Riddle's efforts to place Muggles under population control, many were still giving birth to magical children. Most made the mistake of showcasing their magical abilities before their Pureblood oppressors, but there were still some smart enough to conceal it, and it was those that Harry targeted.

Of course, there was only so much he could do with one compass and three stolen ships. William and Charles Weasley each had a ship to man and a crew to aid them. Harry would send messages via Patronus with coordinates of where he sensed Muggleborns, at least the ones being carted overseas. Procuring the ones already serving magical households was much harder. They were usually branded and warded, not to mention frightened from years of servitude. Still, they had many successful missions in extracting Muggleborns and house elves alike.

He knew Riddle was at his wit's end trying to figure out a way to get to them before he could. Harry hadn't been the _only_ one searching for Bellatrix's compass. Earlier this year, he'd sent Diggory, both Black brothers, and Lovegood on a covert mission to infiltrate the Ministry. His best compatriots were successful in eviscerating all progress the Ministry had made on discovering Muggleborns as soon as they were born. It would take years to get as close as they had been again. So many Arithmancy calculations, so much Runic knowledge, from years of the brightest witches and wizards compiling their work on the project, spanning multiple generations, all lost—and thanks to him and his crew.

Harry couldn't help but feel quite proud. He was the only one to have the knowledge in the form of the crude compass, and he detained Dame Black so none could use her knowledge of the spell she used in creating more devices to target them. He chuckled at the thought of how angry Riddle and Bellatrix both were, that he was using her magical object in such a way. The Muggleborns only needed to hold on a bit longer, and they would get a chance for the Order of the Phoenix to save them.

They were small victories to be sure, but victories just the same.

Still, Harry could not help but feel the sting of defeat as he could not shake the feeling that he'd let a powerful Muggleborn slip through his fingers.

He'd spent the days chasing Malfoy's ship wondering how stupid the _insufferable Malfoy prat_ would have to be to not sense such powerful magic aboard his vessel. Purebloods in general were vastly unaware of the power Muggleborns held. They mostly dismissed it as equal to that of trolls, neglecting completely to recognize it for what it was—equal to their own, if not in some cases, like this one—greater still.

That was one thing he could say about Riddle at least—the mad king _was aware_ of the power those he'd labeled inferior were capable of wielding—it's why he oppressed them so.

If there was anyone that should know, it was Harry.

Harry witnessed firsthand the depths of depravity being a slave to Purebloods could plummet to. The scar on his forehead throbbed at the reminder. _Nothing_ was worse than serving King Riddle himself.

Clenching his fists by his side, he was brought back to the present by Tracey's hand rubbing soothing circles below his neck. She assessed him with a concerned look.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I got lost for a bit." He smiled apologetically. "It's only…I can't help but feel the compass was right."

"But all those Muggles," Ronald argued. "We searched through the lot of them, even the ones bobbing in the water, and none showed any magical capability. What are we going to do with them, anyway?"

"The question is," Tracey started darkly. "Why we Obliviated those wizards and sent them back in a boat to England. That was _far_ too good a sentence than they deserved."

"Riddle is just going to torture them anyway, try to reverse the Obliviation," Ronald added.

"Not my problem," Harry said evenly. "At any rate, they have no _real_ valuable information, nothing the court does not already know, that is. And we show mercy to our prisoners, because we fight for the light; we must at least distinguish ourselves from them. The last thing I want to do is bring them back to the Hollow and have more unworking mouths to feed. The Muggles will be given the opportunity to work at one of our bases for fair wages, and if they do not wish to, they simply can be Obliviated and sent on their merry way, like always."

"Fair enough," Ronald said. "The one Muggle we got from the last batch turned out to be fairly good at making treacle tarts."

"I can't really think about food right now." Harry fingered the compass, furrowing his brows in concentration. It glowed hotter when a Muggleborn was nearer, it did not stop until touched by the person. It tracked the Muggles with magic closest to the compass. Either his eyes were deceiving him, or the object was still glowing, ever so slightly. Even now, miles away from any land, and deep in the Caribbean seas.

"Maybe the person just drowned like some of the others," Ronald proposed, sensing his friend's distress.

"No, she wouldn't have went that way, _not her_."

"I think you're just obsessed with this apparition you've conjured," Tracey said nastily. "I mean, you even named her a girl and everything. What if it was some man, old in age? He probably hit the water and drowned, just like Ronald said."

"No, it was a girl. I just have this feeling. Just like I have the feeling she's _still_ out there." Harry glanced over the ocean once more, noticing the way the compass was still warm to the touch. "I feel like she's slipped through our fingers." Tracey gave an exasperated sigh. "I think we should follow the compass. Maybe it is defective, but it's still glowing as if a Muggleborn is in the vicinity, _I'm sure of it_ , and it wouldn't if she were dead. We're already here, might as well have a quick once over."

Harry could not shake the feeling that she was out there somewhere. Perhaps he was wrong, perhaps they would need to make another visit to a very disgruntled and restrained Dame Black back on Devil's Rock, but if there was a chance the compass was right…he'd simply have to pursue it.

 **000**

Hermione looked around appreciatively at the shelter she had half built, half conjured. It had taken her nearly a week, with working on the magical side of things covertly as she had, but now, it seemed like the hard work had paid off.

 _Besides, it's not as if he notices anyway. Purebloods never see what's right in front of them, so caught up in themselves as they are._ She snickered at the thought.

It was odd really—never in her life had she imagined she, Hermione Granger, would be bossing around a Pureblood, and he would be listening to her!

Malfoy and she had developed a rather easy-going relationship. She knew he saw her as an asset and thought himself helpless in this situation, so really, he was forced to seek her help, but she actually found she rather liked being around the pompous blond. He was turning out to be a hard-worker, and she certainly admired that.

In general, Hermione liked being around people. Even if she was not socially allowed to voice her thoughts or convey her feelings, she at least liked to watch and observe. Purebloods were not wholly different from any other humans she'd witnessed. They still cared for their families, fell in love, liked to pursue their own interests and knowledge. Really, they were more alike than they were different.

If it wasn't for the walls of prejudice erected tall and thick between them, Hermione did not see why they could not get along in the world peacefully—as equals.

Only, that simply was not the way of things, and Hermione had no choice but to conform to the role society had so unfairly placed upon her. It was difficult to accept, but she was a survivor, an adaptor if nothing else, so she did.

Yet here, with Malfoy, she did not need to suffocate herself so.

Sure, he had voiced his concern over the way she spoke so freely, so demanding…at first. But now, he seemed to accept that she liked to prattle on and when he was getting irritated; she could usually shut him up with a tasty meal.

Besides, secretly, she guessed that he liked listening to her talk.

She would often times find him listening intently, yet trying to appear aloof and uncaring. Still, she could see the corners of his lips turned up, itching to smile, she could see the sparkle in his eye, and there was no denying the respectful way in which he regarded her. He treated her like an equal, a far cry from the Muggle-scum he had treated her like on the first day. Really, the blond was quite easy to get along with. He liked her company, whether he admitted it or not, and she liked his.

To say nothing of his good looks.

Hermione frowned. It was true that Malfoy was quite the looker. He normally wore a sneer on his face so you could hardly tell there was anything handsome underneath it, but she'd caught it on occasion. Those times she took him by surprise, when she'd splashed him right in the face as they'd gathered flat rocks from the pool, when she told him stories before the fire, or simply when she proclaimed a meal was ready. He would let his guard down for a moment, and then she would see it. Handsome, striking beauty, undeniable really. She would look away quickly, she always did, lest she blush and mortify herself, but it wasn't like she ever forgot.

"What did you do now," Malfoy said, startling her out of her silent musings. She looked up quickly, admiring the way his hair looked so tousled in the morning. She quickly averted her gaze, frowning at how distracted she could get sometimes.

"Been doing some more work on the treehouse," she answered proudly.

" _More work_ ," he mimicked. "Looks to me like you've finished the damn thing. I didn't sleep in that long, did I? And I was only just working on the staircase yesterday."

"Yes, well, it is late morning. And as you can see, I finished the staircase. I'd have thought you'd be pleased; not to have to wake up with water dredging up your legs from the rain again. We clearly had need of a structure above the ground."

 _Not to mention the mornings waking up with my leg thrown over his and his arm around my back. That was plenty awkward enough and happened far too many times._ She blushed at the memory.

"I'm happy, just surprised. I hadn't thought there were trees thick enough to fix a shelter to. I suppose I just missed this one."

"No worries, you are highly unobservant after all." He scoffed at that. Ignoring it, she gestured excitedly. "Come on, don't you want to see our new shelter?"

He smirked at her obvious excitement and nodded. She led them up the stairs that went up one flight before veering to the right.

"How did you manage to connect the stairs to the shelter we've been working on? We had trouble with the vines yesterday," he reminded her.

"Secured them to more poles," she answered quickly. _Magically,_ she snickered.

"Are you sure it's safe?"

"Fairly."

The shelter was rectangular in shape and rested on and alongside sturdy branches. They had been using vines, sap, and a hammer and wooden nails she's carved with the blades, in order to piece it together, but they'd still run into problems. Now of course, it was sturdy as ever.

"It's fairly large," Malfoy commented, ducking under the low hanging wall and stepping into the structure.

"Yes," Hermione agreed, nodding proudly. "I told you with that extra set of poles we'd be able to add room for a table and _two_ beds."

"I remember."

"I cut out a window here, where we can see the waterfall, and over here, where just through those trees you can barely make out the beach."

"Convenient."

"Yes, but we should probably work on getting leaves, large enough to cover the window should it rain again."

"Those trees above the waterfall," he pointed up the cliff a bit. "They seem to be large enough."

"Oh, and a hike would be nice," she said, folding her hands together, pleased. "Look," she gestured to the table. "Coconut milk and fruit to break our fast. We'll need it for that hike."

Malfoy sat down on the stools they had made out of bamboo earlier that week and began eating eagerly.

"There's one more surprise," Hermione began slyly. "Though I'm not entirely sure I'm happy with the contents."

"What?" he asked, furrowing his brows.

"The other barrel, it opened."

" _It opened_ ," he repeated, setting down his coconut. "How so, when it was magically sealed?"

"Perhaps it wasn't. I don't know. All I know is the rain must have worn on it or something, it popped off easily when I tried to pry it open."

He got up and walked towards the exit. Hermione followed.

"Where'd you put it?"

"It's under the stairs. I couldn't quite get the lid back on."

They walked down hurriedly before they reached the ground and rounded the stair case. He strode up to the barrel and lifted the lid. He raised his brows as the smell of rum assaulted him. A smile spread across his face, somewhat covered by the shadow of the stairs.

"I thought you'd be happy," Hermione said smugly. "Only, more rice and beans would have been preferential."

"We have plenty, and it's not like we're going to be here for _that_ long."

Hermione raised her eyebrows but said nothing. _This place isn't so bad—I can actually be myself here. And there's no insufferable government dictating everything I do._

"Well, I suppose it will liven up things. Maybe I can put it in my coconut milk, the stench is awful."

Malfoy snorted. "You can't possibly mean to think you will be partaking in this."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Hermione, consuming alcoholic beverages is something _men_ do. It would be unfitting for a lady."

 _Okay, maybe he doesn't look at us as quite equals._ "Please," she scoffed. "I can do _anything_ you can do. And there aren't any rules here."

"You're incorrigible, aren't you? I doubt there is another woman like you anywhere in the world." He reached for a leaf from a nearby tree.

"What are you doing?"

"What's it look like?" He dipped the leaf into the liquid.

"You can't drink before the evening meal, before noon!"

Malfoy looked up quizzically at her. "You just said there were no rules, Hermione." He brought the leaf up to his mouth and sucked the contents down quickly. "Relax, it's only a shot, maybe two. Just wanted a taste."

"That's smart before hiking," she said sarcastically before taking the leaf. "You know, the papaya leaves would be better, more cup-shaped. Or the shells, at least."

"Such a bloody hypocrite," he said, shaking his head. Hermione ignored him, dipping the leaf back into the barrel. She looked up to see his eyes fixated on her. She swallowed audibly as she realized she was using the same leaf he had drunk from, and hadn't even snapped to it. Too far into it now, she threw caution to the wind and tilted the leaf back to suck up the sweet liquid, ignoring the way his eyes had fallen to her lips. She squinted at the repugnant after taste. The rum burned as it took it's time going down her throat. She had the instinct to gag but stopped herself from doing it. She shook her head, attempting to regain her bearings. "Well that was comical," he said.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and took three steps forward, intending on pushing him in the chest, but failing miserably as her foot caught on the hem of her dress. She lost her footing and fell haphazardly towards him. She was caught by strong arms. When she looked up, she found her face was far too close to his. Her breathing stopped as she stared lost in his gray eyes that at that moment looked like hot metal.

She bit her lip in an attempt to wake herself up but was hard pressed to do so.

She was spellbound.

Malfoy's grip was relentless, but as if he'd come to his senses, he relaxed and set her right, back onto her feet. "And that is why alcohol is not for the weaker gender. Only harlots and whores consume it."

"Oh please," Hermione said dismissively. "This is special circumstances, and if it weren't for this bloody dress, I wouldn't have tripped in the first place." She giggled at his look of disapproval. "I think I'll go get some trousers and a shirt out of the crate. This isn't suitable for a hike."

"How in Salazar's name are you going to wear men's clothes?" he called after her, aghast.

"By cinching it, of course," she replied tersely.

Hermione had to suppress another giggle; Malfoy was so fun to shock. She found herself rather looking forward to this hike.

 **000**

 _The bloody vixen,_ he thought. _She's probably had scores of men, what with being a servant. I'm sure she thinks she could play me just like she's probably done to many before._

Draco was irate. When he saw her drinking from the same leaf, the same part he'd drank from, all he could think was— _she's tasting me_.

Even so, his foul mood didn't last long. Hermione always had a way of lightening up any situation. Really, her cheerful countenance was a bit contagious.

 _Wearing men's trousers and drinking rum—it's completely uncouth, and I shouldn't be allowing it._ He was shocked by how much he let slide when it came to her, but what could he do? Even though he was wandless, he still had his brute strength, that was true, but to force her to comply with his demands in such a way repulsed him. It was far easier to simply do things her way, at least while they were here. She was much more agreeable when she wasn't fighting against him anyway.

He quietly finished his breakfast, noticing that she had yet to touch hers. He wondered how the collection of fruits could taste so appetizing for the eighth day in a row. He supposed it was due to the memory of having not eaten for two days—anything was appealing after that.

When Hermione came rounding the corner of their makeshift home, he chuckled at the site of her. The brown trousers were rolled up four or five times at her waist so that her ankles were showing. She had an oversized white shirt tied wrap style instead of buttoned. She even had some sort of burlap hat tied together with vines around her neck.

"No shoes," he remarked.

"Nothing suitable for slick rocks. Barefoot would be best, I think."

She was always so logical; never one to care for artifacts or things ladies usually dwelt on. It was actually a bit refreshing.

"I think you're right," he said, leaning down to take off his own shoes.

"What's this? The great Draco Malfoy admits I'm right?" She put a hand jauntily on her hip, a very defined, eye-catching hip, and stared at him challengingly.

"It's clear Muggle things are _your_ area of expertise."

"Hmph. Basic survival skills, you mean."

"Call it what you like. Aren't you going to eat your breakfast?"

She snatched up the shell of fruit, already getting juicy from sitting so long. "I'll eat it on the go," she replied. "Come on."

Draco rolled his eyes but got up nonetheless.

"What's the best way to go about it?" she asked, throwing the empty shell to the ground. "Right side or left?"

He eyed the steep cliff. "The right I think, less steep. But there isn't a recognizable trail. Perhaps I should go myself? I can throw the leaves down to you."

Hermione snorted as she headed off to the right side of the fall, ignoring his attempt at chivalry.

"You're right," she said. "It isn't so steep this way. Lots of rocks to climb over, but manageable."

They made their way up quietly. He stayed right behind her, keeping a close eye to see that she wasn't slipping. The way got steeper about at the halfway point, and Draco stayed on high alert.

"We better go check our pool at the beach after this, see what kind of fish we have today," she said.

"Didn't catch any yesterday."

"Clam is just as good though."

"I suppose."

When they reached the top, Draco was not pleased to find they would need to climb their way over, as it was too high to step over. He searched for a vine or something they could use to pull themselves up but didn't see anything useable.

"Here," Hermione said thrusting the vine in his hand. "You go, then I will."

"Where'd you find that?" he said frowning. "It wasn't there a second ago."

"Don't be silly, of course it was."

Draco yanked on it, testing it, but the vine seemed to be tethered and sturdy. He quickly pulled himself up the short distance before turning around and tossing the vine back down to her.

She was quite competent in pulling herself up initially, but he had to ultimately reach down and pull her up over the ledge. She landed halfway on top of him and hurried to scurry off.

He got up and dusted himself off as elegantly as he could. "All for some bloody leaves."

"No," she said breathlessly, facing the direction of their camp. "All for this view."

He turned around to see what she was looking at, surprised he hadn't noticed immediately. It really was a stunning view. The pool below edged by a thick canopy of trees led to their pristine beach and lagoon. The island was quite large and the picturesque ocean was a sight to behold.

"Look, Malfoy, behind you."

He turned around to see more little waterfalls falling from an even higher cliff. They poured into a rounder pool. This one looked deeper than the one below, and there was a cluster of rocks forming a grotto at one end of it. Draco had walked a little further up, admiring the shrubbery and flowers surrounding it, when he was taken by surprise and felt himself freefalling into the cool water below.

He came up splashing and sputtering. "You pushed me," he said unbelievingly.

"Well yes, you did need to let loose, after all."

Seething, he growled, " _Alarte Ascendare_!"

Hermione's eyes widened as she was catapulted up into the air. She flailed and screamed as she came back down, landing with a loud splash in the water. He was surprised he was able to do the spell, one he'd used often in dueling. It was a few more seconds before she came back up with a gasp.

"Malfoy, you can do wandless magic?"

"Well, I never really tried that much," he answered honestly, surprise etched on his face. "Nonverbal, of course, but wandless was always so hard."

She swam to the side of the pool where it was shallower. "I don't know why you wouldn't have made yourself learn it. What if someone were to disarm you? Then what would you do?"

"It's not that easy, Hermione. Everything is not always so bloody simple."

"Try to summon that twig right there," she suggested, pointing to a stick a few yards away.

He raised his eyebrows at the challenge. He didn't see the harm in trying, and he was curious. " _Accio_ twig," he called imperiously.

Nothing happened.

"Perhaps it only worked in your rage," she said thoughtfully. "Which by the way, what if I had hurt myself? What if the water wasn't deep enough for how high you jumped me?"

"I knew it was deep once you pushed me in," he said defensively. "Besides, my magic wouldn't have hurt you."

"Well, at least we found you're not hopeless at using magic without a wand."

"There you go again. Talking about magical things like you're some expert."

"Malfoy," she said evenly, swimming back into the water and floating on her back. He tried to ignore the way the wet clothes clung to her body, or the way the sight of her feminine curves did funny things to him. Not to mention her serene face, content with basking in the sunlight. "I told you time and time again; I grew up in a magical household. Perhaps Muggles aren't as stupid as you've always believed."

"I guarantee you, I've never met a Muggle before as aware as you."

"They're just better at hiding it, or beat down so much they learn to conceal their feelings."

"Hmph," he scoffed. "Doubtfully."

"Oh, look, Malfoy," Hermione said, gesturing to leafy vegetation edging the pool. "It's floating lettuce. We can have salad for lunch."

"Are you sure that's edible?" he asked uncertainly.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she made her way over to the plant. " _Pistia Stratiotes_ is most certainly edible. It's like iceberg, but richer in vitamins, and really something we need. We don't get near enough vegetables."

"It looks odd."

"See those leaves growing above the stocks? That's the edible part." She was already plucking a few heads of the lettuce and tossing it to the side.

"How do you know all this?"

"An Herbology book. A picture one," she amended.

"You can cut it out. I already know you know how to read."

"How?" she asked simply.

"You're an insufferable _know-it-all_. I'm sure there's no knowledge you wouldn't have got your hands on."

It was true. Hermione was quite the resourceful one. Begrudgingly, he had to admit she'd earned at least a shred of respect from him. He may be able to slowly teach himself some simple wandless spells, but she was the one who had initially saved them both. He was grateful he'd ended up with such a competent Muggle. Unfortunately, it seemed she had recognized his cutting words for the compliment they were.

"Thanks, Malfoy! I think that's the nicest thing you've said to me all week." She grabbed him by the shoulders and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Let's gather those leaves and throw them down with the lettuce heads. It's not too far down, I wish we could just jump." He was frozen in his spot, floating in the water, but she didn't seem to notice as she prattled on. "That little cliff right there would be perfect to jump from. Looks about nine meters high." He still wasn't moving, and Hermione swam back to grab his arm. "Come on. What if there's some red snapper in that pool of ours? Can you imagine a red snapper salad, it'd be grand."

Schooling his features, he let the enigma of a girl pull him towards the big-leafed trees. She'd kissed him on the cheek, merely a swift, innocent kiss, and he'd nearly lost his breath over it. It was difficult to rectify, how a Muggle-girl could affect him so, yet it was becoming difficult to deny. He'd always wondered how half-bloods could ever exist, what type of Pureblood would soil themselves so, but he was beginning to see, just barely, how something like that could occur.

That night, after a hearty lunch of red snapper fish salad and dinner using the leftover fish, he dreamt about kisses, under the moonlight, in the grotto in between the waterfalls. Wild brown locks curled around his fingers as her soft body molded against his. He awoke in a most uncomfortable state.


	4. Chapter 4: Hidden

**A/N: Hey guys! I'm back and I have good news-updates should be more regular as I have finished up two stories and outlined the next twelve chapters. I have a lot planned and am pretty excited about it so I hope you guys enjoy!**

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* * *

 **000**

The sound of Lucius' cane clacking against the white marble floor echoed throughout the palace court. He gripped the cold, silver snake head of his cane, steeling his nerves as he approached King Riddle's throne. He would have liked to avoid seeking out the King, but recent events had forced him into action.

How could his only son and heir have been so misfortunate as to have his vessel attacked and be lost at sea? It reinforced what Lucius had already known, what he and his father had hammered into Draco time and time again—the sea was no place for him. How many times had Lucius, his father Abraxas, and even his mother, encouraged him to take up a post within the Ministry? Such work was admirable—sought after even. Yet there his son was, snubbing his nose at it, in favor of a much more dangerous and even frowned upon profession. _But lucrative_ , he thought reluctantly. Draco had always said it was his dream to see the Malfoy vaults overflowing once more, and truly, he sent much back to the family to ensure this happened. Still, Lucius would take his son over galleons any day. What good was a legacy if there was no one to leave it to?

"Lucius, friend," King Riddle said, jolting him out of his silent reverie. "What brings you to court today?"

Although the King was being friendly, Lucius knew better than to trust him. He threw up his Occlumency shields merely out of habit. The Malfoys had always served House Riddle well and one of the ways they stayed in good favor was by proving themselves an asset. Petitioning for a favor was very ill-advised indeed. _Yet what choice do I have?_

"Excellency," Lucius said, bowing his head in deference. "I've come here today on behalf of my son."

"Have you heard the news?" The King raised his jewel-encrusted goblet and a Muggle slave hurried to fill it. Sometimes, Lucius wondered why he did not simply cast a _Repelo_ , but he supposed King Riddle relished in the attention of his inferiors waiting on him.

"The news, Excellency?"

"Of the survivors, of course." The king took a drink of the dark purple liquid, before sitting back, his face aloof and impassive.

"Was…?"

"Your son was not among them, unfortunately. It seems dear Draco has given us the slip. It was only Zabini, Nott, and Jones—in their altered memory charm state—that were returned to us."

Lucius pressed his lips into a thin line.

"That's where we differ from our enemy—where our strength lies—there would be no survivors returned should the roles be reversed." An unnatural red gleam flickered through the King's eyes and Lucius had to suppress a shudder. "That brings our total to seven lost at sea. Not to mention the valuable vessel which is now at the bottom of the ocean or the Muggle cargo." King Riddle only just seemed to remember Lucius standing there. "My deepest sympathies to you and your family."

"Your Highness," Lucius said through gritted teeth. "I do not believe my son is dead."

"No?" A look of bemusement passed over the King's face. "A father's unwavering hope—how touching."

Lucius took a deep breath before continuing. "The Malfoy tapestry; Draco's name still appears among the living. And his portrait hasn't been immortalized in our home."

King Riddle smiled brazenly. "So you believe he is out gallivanting on another adventure? How exciting." Lucius could not even attempt to show amusement and the King's smile dropped. "What is it you want, Lucius?"

"I was hoping, Majesty, that you might give me leave to search for my son."

"And waste more valuable palace resources? The mission is folly."

"I would use my own funds. I would only take a select few with me to search in the area where his ship was taken down. Perhaps Zabini and Nott-"

"Zabini and Nott will be _indisposed_ for a while. They will soon have their own mission to depart for." The King's malicious smirk sent chills down Lucius' spine.

"Majesty?"

"We've been gifted with an opportunity, to actually have members of our own Court in the presence of the rebels. They will tell me everything, then they will be tasked with locating the rebel base. Do you know that the weaklings actually used healing magic on them? In their softness, they've delivered us certified trackers I'll be eager to send out to sufficiently… _thank_ them."

"But their memories…"

"Nothing a little torture can't unlock."

Lucius suppressed a cringe. "Excellency, I do not need to bring many. Five will suffice. I can secure passage on a trading ship. Only if you give me your leave."

"I think it a colossal waste of time." King Riddle shifted in his seat, looking strangely reminiscent of a whiny teenage boy on the verge of throwing a temper tantrum should he not get his way. A silly thought, seeing that, despite his outward appearance, the King had to be upwards of eighty. He evaluated Lucius shrewdly, before finally seeming to come to a decision. "Very well, if you wish to pursue this exercise in futility, you have my leave, but you will be wasting no one else's time—you will go at it alone."

Lucius bowed his head, not wishing to press his luck. "His Majesty is most kind." He would locate his son, even if he did not have the aid of Draco's friends. He would hire a guide to take him out to sea, and he would not come back without Draco.

 **000**

Rolling over onto her back, Hermione stretched luxuriously on her makeshift pallet. She heard Malfoy sleeping soundly on the pallet opposite hers and she let out a contented sigh. They'd been on the island nearly three weeks, according to her estimations, and it had quickly began to feel very much like home.

She knew there was much of the island they had yet to explore. Most of the area was difficult to get to thanks to steep cliffs, lakes, waterfalls, and rigorous trails. But this side of the island, they had come to know well. Hermione found herself quite suited to island life. She adored eating the abundant supply of tropical fruits, ducking into the small grottos behind the waterfalls, letting the soft surf bounce her around in the early evenings, and catching fish and eating it by the fire while they told stories at night. Malfoy really wasn't such bad company. He was fairly peaceful when he wasn't sneering his distaste for her, which seldom happened anymore.

Straightening, Hermione got to her feet, doing a quick estimation of how much time she had before Malfoy would wake. A thought had been plaguing her as of late. What would happen to her if they were found? Either by pirates, or by Malfoy's rescue party, neither option held very much promise for her. No, being found would never do. She needed to ensure that she would stay free and away from any oppressive kingdoms or meddlesome rebellions, eager to bend her will and conform her to theirs.

Slipping on her sandals, she made her way carefully down the staircase. She often slept in late being as her responsibilities were very minimal, but sometimes she would wake early when the sky was still tinged a darker shade of blue and take a walk down the beach, relishing in the chance to get a hold of her thoughts…and practice her magic free of Malfoy's prying eyes.

She'd learned a lot about herself and her magic, since finding herself on the island. She may not have a wand, or never used one, but she found being so immersed in nature only seemed to intensify her magic. She may not have a wand to channel it through, but she was learning to focus it just the same, through her body and then through her fingertips, yielding the desired reaction. Her magic was more elemental than the witches and wizards she had been around in England, she surmised. It was natural and refused to be suppressed. It crackled and swirled at the slightest beckoning, just begging to be summoned and used in any capacity. Hermione loved her magic, and she would absolutely not give it up even if she felt a tad guilty.

A flicker of remorse shot through her as she thought of Draco and how he longed to return to his family. She knew he was an important person, his family was a pillar in the wizarding community, but she could not bring herself to stand by idly and let themselves be found. She was finally free to flex her magic and really get to know it, without worrying about being caught by hordes of people who would eagerly turn her into Azkaban or worse—have the Wizengamot sentence her to the Kiss.

No, despite her reservations, the best thing she could do was secure her own future. No one else had ever bothered to look after her so it was ultimately her responsibility.

 _I don't even know if it will work_. It was true, but she felt a slight thrill just the same at the prospect of using such advanced magic. She had read about many charms, but a disillusionment charm of this magnitude seemed a bit out of reach. _Not with this island, not with such untapped inherent magic just waiting to be called upon_. Hermione knew she had grown to slightly romanticize the place, but she couldn't disregard the fact that her magical capability seemed to know no bounds here.

There seemed an abundant supply of magical energy just waiting to be called upon, whether from the sweet tropical air, the rich soil, or the clear, blue waters. Either way, Hermione found she had an easier time wielding her magic whilst drawing upon the properties of the elements. She needed only to voice the spell in her head or even simply imagine it, and it came to be. She'd always been able to perform simple enchantments—she could float or clean objects since she was a child—but the more advanced spellwork had always been a challenge.

Until now.

Resolved in the task before her, Hermione sat down gingerly in between a fringe of trees where the dark, rich soil met the white sand and surf of the beach. She took a deep inhale of the salty ocean breeze, watching as the ocean water pulled and pushed along the bank.

The Praetexo Charm, a spell she'd only briefly read about when Olive came home for Yule break during her fifth year, before she was sent to Remedial Charms class—this spell was her only option in ensuring the island became unplottable.

It would be difficult, she knew. Generally the concealment charm required two wizards or witches to enact it, but it was her best chance at getting what she wanted. If she could pull this off, the island would become hidden and she need not worry about ever being somebody's slave again.

She leaned back on her elbows, before falling flat to her back. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sound of the waves crashing softly on the beach, on the sound of the palm leaves as they swayed in the island breeze. It lulled her to a calm and focused state. Stretching her fingers, she threaded them through the soft earth, calling upon the energy and feeling it immediately course through her. She took another deep breath, breathing in the sweet air tasting of salty sea. Feeling her power intensify, she decided to put her theory to the test.

" _Praetendio_ ," she said, enunciating the word carefully.

The wind picked up and the palm leaves swayed faster. She concentrated on what she needed to do. _Protection. Concealment. Hide me. Unplottable. Conceal me_.

" _Praetendio_ ," she called, louder this time. Her fingers trailed through the now loosened soil as a cacophony of light and sound seemed to erupt around her. She could hardly keep her breathing steady as she suddenly felt as if caught in an angry storm.

Steeling her features, she tried again, firmly through the halestorm around her. " _PRAETENDIO_!"

A flash of golden light erupted around her before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. The frenzy of activity went with it and Hermione found her fingers flying through air. She tried to sit up but her head felt unnaturally heavy. Did it work? Hermione wasn't sure if it had, the golden light had disappeared so fast, perhaps she needed to try it again? Flexing her muscles, she was about to try again when a voice sent a ribbon of fear running through her.

"Hermione!"

She jolted upwards, noticing at once that she was no longer touching solid ground, but rather, was levitating a good two meters in the air. Upon realizing this, she promptly descended downwards, landing with a hard thump onto her bum and thwacking her head on the ground.

She let out a yelp of pain, forcing herself to sit up and dust the dirt off of her dress. Her head was pounding and her blood pulsed at her temples. She felt like her body was _positively humming_ and she tried in vain to relax herself, thinking she may have called upon too much magic and he might sense it.

"Hermione!"

She dusted the remnants of dirt off of her dress, casting a silent _Tergio_ for good measure. She looked up just in time to see Malfoy pushing low hanging leaves aside to get to her.

"Malfoy, over here." She waved, plastering on a false smile and attempting to look composed.

Upon seeing her, his usually bored and impassive face quickly gave way to horror. She gulped, wondering if her fears were coming true and he was beginning to suspect her.

"Hermione, what happened?" He ran over and quickly dropped to her side. He ripped off the cuff of his shirt with a strength that surprised her, before tilting her head back and plugging her nose with it.

"What the bloody hell, Malfoy?" She tried to speak clearly, but her voice came out nasally. "What are you playing at?" She wrenched away from his surprisingly strong grip.

"Your sodding nose is bleeding," he explained, holding up the now reddened cuff of his shirt, damp with her blood. "What happened?"

 _Merlin, my nose!_ Most likely thanks to the magic she'd called upon. "Oh, that." She waved her hand flippantly. "I get them in the morning, sometimes. A Muggle thing."

Icy gray eyes wandered over her contemplatively and she had the wild urge to hide, perhaps perform a Praetexio Charm on herself? "A Muggle thing? And this is common for you?" His intense gaze seemed to cut through her and she had the insane notion he could read her thoughts.

"Intermittent, actually." She turned towards their camp, more so that she couldn't be caught in his unwavering gaze. "I'm not sure about you, but I'm famished," she called over her shoulder.

"Perhaps you should sit down," he suggested, grabbing hold of her wrist.

That thing that often happened whenever he was concerned ran rampant again and her heart beat wildly in her chest. Her senses warred with each other as part of her tensed for battle while another part of her seemed to sway towards him. _Damned bloody pheromones_ , she thought.

"It's fine, Malfoy," she said crisply. "I assure you—I can take care of myself like I _always_ have." She whirled away without looking to see if he was following.

 **000**

Carrying the malleable woven basket under his arm, Draco followed Hermione as she led them toward the beach, the torch burning brightly in her hand. He estimated it was early evening, yet the moon was already bright in the sky.

"We are catching dinner later and later," he whined. "When we first arrived, it was still light out when we collected the fish."

Hermione sighed, as if put out by having to deal with someone of inferior intelligence. Draco bristled at the idea; never before had a Muggle made him feel so… _stupid_. "That's because the earth's gravitational pull is taking us closer to the moon later and later. The tide only rises when it's far away, Malfoy. Surely a seaman like yourself would know that."

Draco eyed Hermione as best he could in the dim moonlight. She'd been rather aloof that day, ever since he'd happened upon her the day before on the beach. He'd been annoyed to wake up and find breakfast hadn't been prepared yet. She was usually on top of that. He also didn't like waking up alone. What if the silly little bint decided to abandon him on the island? Sure, thanks to her, he now knew how to do a number of things on his own, but he still preferred the company, even from a lowly Muggle like herself. _A lowly Muggle unlike any Muggle you've ever come across before_ , he reminded himself crossly.

Yes, this was true. Hermione had proven to be one of a kind. He valued power above all else and he supposed competence in a Muggle was an equivalent to this. In a way, she had earned his respect, albeit just slightly. So when he'd come to find the infuriating girl and she'd appeared to be hurt, of course his irritation faded away and he'd sprung into action. He just wasn't sure why she had become so cold and distant. Not only that, but she seemed to be hiding something. The thought sent a stab of worry coursing through him. He hoped that wasn't the case. He hoped she wasn't concealing some ailment and was too proud to discuss it with him. He'd simply have to watch her more carefully. Not to mention he'd need to get her to smile if he could help it. He didn't very much care for brooding Hermione—that was his role to play.

"I never really cared for such things," he answered finally. "With modified weather charms it really wasn't of very much importance." They reached the beach and sure enough, the pool they'd made with the rocks was visible and further up from the water. "How is it that you've come to know so much about all of this in the first place?" He didn't try to hide the suspicion from his voice.

"If you have issues with it, take it up with your king. He's the one who demands all Muggle children attend school from their first to their fourth year." She stuck the torch into the sand.

"Really?" He was not expecting that answer.

"You mean you didn't know?"

He scowled at the smug tone of her voice. "No, and I can't say I've ever run across a Muggle school before, either."

She perched loftily on one of the rocks that edged their makeshift pool and reached into her satchel, pulling out the tool they'd made fashioning limestone into a handheld spear of sorts. Draco felt like a caveman. "You wouldn't see them," she said matter-of-factly. "There's nothing to be seen. The older Muggles teach the school-age children locally, behind barns and such. It's not so official, just basics really." She shot him a searching look and he was struck by the way her face seemed almost ethereal in the moonlight. "Are you so surprised your king should allow for Muggle education?"

"I think it's a good idea, to be sure. The basics clearly come in handy. I'm just surprised King Riddle would see it that way." He truly was. He'd never known the king to have a soft spot for learning but apparently there was much he didn't know about the British monarch. "I wonder if the Mudbloods in Azkaban have academic privileges," he mused, more to himself.

She scoffed. "Doubtful, especially considering all Mudbloods caught practicing magic are sentenced to the Kiss. No, Malfoy, his leniency does not spread to _them_." There was a splash as she speared a fish and tossed it into the basket.

Brows knitted in suspicion, he asked, "How would you know that?"

She froze for only a split second, before resuming her action. Draco had to wonder if he'd only imagined her hesitation. "I've told you time and again, Malfoy. I grew up in a magical world. Of course we were all made aware of the dangers Mudbloods pose."

"I just haven't seen a Muggle speak so freely on it."

"Well, have you ever taken the time to speak to a Muggle before me?" she snapped, voice frigid. "No, I suppose not. But you drew your own misinformed conclusions, _regardless_. I swear, Malfoy, you can be so dense sometimes."

He blanched at her crass words and the harsh tone by which she delivered them. "You really are in a foul mood today, aren't you." She speared another fish and repeated her prior action.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"It's fine," he replied automatically, plopping down by the basket and reaching for a fish.

He withdrew the blade he'd begun to feel familiar with and set to work deboning the fish, a task he'd come to feel much more comfortable with as of late. They worked together in silence, Hermione spearing more fish than Draco supposed they could eat before they spoiled, but he didn't try to stop her.

Finally, having seemed to get her fill, she came and plopped down beside him, fisting her hands by her side, and watching him silently as he worked.

"You should really do that by the fire, where you can see better," she suggested.

"The moon is bright enough."

They stayed quiet again and Hermione seemed content to simply watch him.

"I am sorry," she said again. "It's just that I get angry sometimes at…injustices."

"But they aren't your injustices to worry about."

"I know that." She fiddled with the sleeves of her dress distractedly. "But injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere."

He frowned as he pondered her words. "A Muggle quote?"

"That's right, by a very wise Muggle."

"You mean there are others? I confess, I thought you were just a fluke." He graced her with a scoundrel-like grin.

"Of course there are others," she said patiently, but smiled back at him just the same. "And I wish you'd realize it. I wish others would realize it, too."

Draco said nothing, her words running through his mind over and over. He reached for a blue fish, laying it over his palm whilst preparing to slice its belly. The fish gave one last, valiant flop, startling Draco and causing him to nick his wrist instead.

Hermione gasped. "What did you do?" She sat up at her knees, tearing at her dress, and hastily wrapping the swatch of material around his wrist.

"If we keep ripping our clothes, we're not going to have much left to wear." He chuckled, and she shot him a withering stare.

"Don't be silly, Malfoy. We have plenty to wear thanks to that chest washing up." She tied the knot hard and he winced at the sting. "And this isn't a laughing matter. Do you realize something as inconsequential as a cut could kill you on this island? What if you get an infection?"

"I'm not a Muggle, Hermione," he informed her impetuously. "I'm a wizard and we don't get those filthy Muggle diseases."

"How would you know? With the slightest injury were you not whisked away to a Healer?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"I'm sure they performed some type of cleaning spell on you, which would prevent an infection from ever happening."

"Perhaps, only—"

"Now, that is simply not an option. Imagine, the brave and noble Draco Malfoy succumbs to an early death thanks to a cut he received whilst cleaning a fish." She unwrapped the bandage and splashed some salt water over the small wound. "I forgot to clean it first," she explained, before setting about tying the material again. She looked up proudly. "Impressed, Malfoy?"

He looked into her eyes, glittering in the pale moonlight. Her lips were quirked in a half smirk and she was panting softly after her impromptu speech. His gaze fell to her lips and he had the sudden, inexplicable urge to brush them up against his own. Blood thundered in his ears, but he steeled himself against the insane notion. "You are the single most annoying person I've ever met."

The moment was broken and she rolled her eyes, her smirk growing.

Draco reached down to collect the basket when he suddenly felt her grip on his forearms, holding him tightly like a vice.

"Malfoy," she hissed, voice tight and unusually fearful. "Look." She gestured out towards the sea.

He scanned the water and his blood chilled at the sight before his eyes. Galvanized into motion, he darted for the torch and thrust it into the water, immediately purging them into darkness, save for the dim light provided by the moon.

"What if they're friendly?" she whispered.

"They aren't. Look at the emblem of the flag."

"I can't make it out, I can only see shadows."

"It's a Phoenix."

Hermione's breath hitched and Draco felt his own breathing becoming erratic. So the Order was still out there, out there and searching, perhaps? What were they looking for? It must be important to spend three weeks combing the Caribbean. Or perhaps this island was known to them, uncharted as it was? It was quite large; was it another rebel base?

"We need to hide, Malfoy." Hermione clutched onto him frightfully.

"Hold on. They haven't turned yet. They should turn if they mean to set anchor in this inlet. They may not have seen our fire."

They watched silently as the ship sailed directly past them, not even deigning to stop. They exchanged confused looks before running to the west end of the shore, where they could see if the ship would follow the sharp curve of the island.

It did not.

Instead, it sailed on.

They watched as it sailed until it became merely a black dot on the horizon and then finally, no longer visible.

"It worked," Hermione breathed.

"What worked?" he said sharply.

"Nothing. A prayer, that's all." She turned to head back to their forgotten dinner. "Come on, Malfoy. There's obviously no danger here. Whatever the pirates wanted, this island means nothing to them."

Draco followed her, kneeling down to grab the basket. "I suppose you're right. They probably see countless islands like this one. We should thank our lucky stars they didn't stop here."

 **000**


	5. Chapter 5: Storm

**A/N: I hope this was a quick enough update for you, because this was about as quick as I can go. The feedback really pushed me to get it out quicker, so thanks for that! I am pleased to be able to update on Hermione's b-day 3 Enjoy and please tell me what you think!**

 **Beta Love to:** **Carrington Shaw and RooOJoy**

 **When I wrote the dramione moment you'll see in this story, I was listening to Never Be Like You by Flume (like over and over)-it was my inspiration! Oh, and I hope you take a look at the pretties I made for this chapter because I couldn't resist. Not with the storm and all the coziness and what not. Easiest way would be photobucket, AO3, or FB. The-bravo-angel made the cover 3**

 **Thanks for follows/favorites/reviews: chibi-Clar, pgoodrichboggs, daswhoiam, sleeplygirl, riddlesgurl86, beth, Green Eyed Lana Lee, dragonlovermudblood, Meiri, sunshinealeia, Mistress DragonFlame, purpleninjacow, HereToRead84, and the guests!**

* * *

 **000**

The rain pounded on the palms, sending rivulets of water cascading down on the hard-working slaves. Even though the day was still young, the sky had darkened measurably. The clouds hung in a thick canopy over the sky, blocking out the brightness of the sun. The ocean was in turmoil, water churning and roiling, in dark, angry waves.

Tracey was in a right foul mood over it. "Really," she whined, cinching up her wool trousers and tucking in her wet shirt. "This is bloody ridiculous, Harry. We should be in New Godric's Hollow, holed up from this storm, not _still_ chasing Muggle-borns."

"But that's what we do, Trace," Regulus said, as they edged closer to the group of unsuspecting Muggles.

"As it happens, I wasn't asking you, Reg," she said pointedly.

"You needn't have come, Tracey," Harry said quietly, green eyes trained ahead. "You could have stayed at the base, or even back on the ship."

The blond witch frowned, her disillusionment charm wavering. "You know I go wherever you go, Harry."

"Then quit bloody-well complaining about it." Harry lit the tip of his wand and raised it, further illuminating the dimly lit area.

Regulus' mouth snapped shut at Harry's crass words. He glanced at Tracey to see her features were set in a fierce snarl, but she stayed blessedly silent.

"This isn't even the right Muggle-born," Harry continued, seemingly unaware of the daggers Tracey was staring into the back of his head. "Obviously he is a Muggle-born, but he isn't the one that was on Malfoy's ship."

Tracey sighed. "Oh, wasn't he? And how do you know? The compass led us here, after all."

"It's not—" the brunette wizard faltered, "it's not glowing properly."

Tracey's lips quirked in amusement. "It's not… _glowing properly_?" She peered at the compass still gripped in his left hand. " How cute. You really do need to quit moping and get over this witch or wizard you think you came across. There's a fine Muggle-born right here just ripe for the taking. Snatch up that one and let's be off. Reg does want to make it back to get bested by his brother in Sunday's Quidditch match."

"I won't be bested," Regulus said. "Sirius is far too pompous for his own good."

"I could care less about Quidditch," Harry said, a muscle twitching by his eye. "And chances are, we may not make it back by Sunday."

"But New Godric's Hollow is only five days from here," Tracey said, voice rising. "I don't see why we wouldn't make it back in time."

"If we did a final sweep—"

"A final sweep? You've been saying that for weeks! Here we are, in South New World, for Merlin's sake, no closer to being home than before."

"Tracey." His voice came out in a low warning.

"And since when do you _not care_ about Quidditch?" Tracey's hands lowered to her hips, still holding her wand tightly in her right hand. "You were always so good at juggling work with play. Now it's all work, work, work."

Harry whirled on her, his voice coming out in a low growl. "Tracey, honestly. Do I need to have Reg escort you back to the ship?"

"I don't need a bloody escort." She sneered, looking back at Regulus and wrinkling her nose.

The raven-haired wizard put his hands up in mock surrender.

"Then I won't have another word about it." Harry turned towards the group, who were leaving to gather more of the wood they had chopped. "It's odd, but I haven't seen any magic folk here."

Reg pointed to the hastily-constructed barracks built further up from the beach. "That's Riddle's flag they're waving."

"Yes, but I daresay they've been left alone."

"Left alone?" Tracey's eyebrows raised high on her forehead. "Why would the swotting Purebloods leave their precious Muggles unattended?"

"I'm sure they've warded them, Trace," Regulus said, as if stating the obvious.

"They've likely gone on a foraging mission through the jungle. Think of all the magical creatures they can capture and bring back to sell in Britain," Harry said. "Meanwhile, Riddle builds another fort on the coastline, staking his territory. They're doing it all over the new world."

The trio watched the unsuspecting group of Muggles under the cover of their Muffliato and Disillusionment charms.

"So that's the one, huh?" Tracey gestured towards a man who had divested himself of his shirt and was currently heaving wood from a cart at one end of the beach towards the partially built structure.

Harry nodded. "How can you tell?"

"I don't need a compass whilst this close. I can sense magical auras." She dug her sandal-clad foot into the wet sand distractedly. "Why do they trust the building of their bases to _them_? Do they not wish to fortify it magically?"

"I would imagine it's much easier to have slaves do the heavy labor before reinforcing it later," Regulus said. He leaned over to Harry. "Suppose we catch him away from the others, perhaps at nightfall?"

Tracey sighed loudly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"The last thing we need is more Muggles at New Godric's," Regulus said defensively. "Perhaps in Africa, but our island in the Caribbean is getting a bit crowded."

"We could simply Obliviate them," Tracey suggested, tapping her foot impatiently.

"There's no need for that," Harry said, waving his hand dismissively. "An opportunity has presented itself right now, so it would seem."

Three pairs of eyes glanced over to see the man had wandered off between the trees. The trio exchanged looks before following after him.

They entered a small clearing hedged by a line of trees. The rain pounded down on them, flooding the area. The Muggle-born dredged through the meadow before reaching the edge and one of the towering trees. He cast a quick look around before uttering softly, " _Pluvia Repelo_."

Instantly, the water around him dissipated, encasing him in a dry bubble. Harry's eyebrows raised in surprise at the showcase of his skill. The man pressed himself up against the tree and slid down the bark, watching the clearing warily for any trace of people.

Harry shot his compatriots a pointed look. Stepping forward, he removed his charm and the others followed suit, making their presence known.

The tired man jumped up at the sight of them, his protective bubble dissipating. As they drew closer, they saw the fear claw up his features.

"Neat trick you got there," Tracey said with a half smirk.

"Neat, but stupid," Regulus said, examining his fingernails.

"Can you do a lot of nonverbal magic?" Tracey asked curiously.

He shook his head. "Y-you're Purebloods," he said, eyes widening first with alarm, then defeat.

"Not quite," Harry said. "He's a Pureblood." He gestured towards Regulus before pointing to himself and Tracey. "We're Halfbloods."

"I don't understand."

Tracey crouched down to his level. "You're not really a man, are you? Why, you're just a boy."

"I'm a man," he argued. "I'm sixteen."

"What's your name, boy?" Harry's tone brokered no room for argument.

"Finch, Justin Finch."

"That was stupid of you to use magic so callously," Harry said. "What if your captors had caught you?"

"Looks like he's caused _his captors_ trouble before," Regulus said. "If the lines on his back are any indication."

"P-please, I didn't mean to. I just…" Justin trailed off uncertainly. "I just like using magic. I seldom get to. And _they've_ left for their ranging mission, for Tikal. They won't be back this soon. I only wished to practice—"

"Wait," Harry said sharply. "Ranging mission…for Tikal you say?"

"That's right."

"Why would they divulge this information to you?" Tracey said suspiciously.

"Slaves…pick up things over time. Myself more than others."

"That's stupid of them," Tracey said.

"Their loss is our gain," Regulus said, grinning widely.

"You're not broken yet, not like these Muggles, are you, Justin?" asked Harry.

Justin shook his head stiffly.

Awareness crystallized in Harry's green eyes. "I understand…I understand perfectly." Harry turned around and started walking, and Tracey motioned Justin to get to his feet.

"Come on," she said. "We have a loo on our ship, you know."

Justin flushed and Regulus chuckled. "Don't mind her. She's eager to get back, that's all."

"I don't understand, you want me to come with you?"

"Why, yes, silly." Tracey shot him a look as if to say he were dense. "Freeing Muggle-borns is what we do." She cast Regulus a wily smirk.

"I never knew…that there were others like myself… _resisting_. And not simply locked away in Azkaban."

"There's a lot the Ministry doesn't tell you, mate," Regulus said, good-naturedly. "And we'll tell you all about the Phoenix."

"Just like you will tell us all about this ranging mission the Purebloods have gone on," Harry said, his smile infectious. "We have another five days at sea until we reach home." Tracey clapped at the change of plans, feeling suddenly giddy. "So we can hear all about it."

 **000**

The tropical forest rain hadn't yielded in the slightest in three days. Draco peered up into the dark sky, sneering in disgust. Never before had he been so uncomfortable for so many days in a row. He was cold and shivering, not to mention beyond hungry. They hadn't cooked in all that time and they'd been living merely on fruit and water. His body was weakened from hours spent holed up in the treehouse, trying to wait out the storm. What he wouldn't give for some hot food in his belly.

"Hermione," he said, unable to keep the whine from his voice. "This is bloody ridiculous. How do you suppose I'll be able to find dry enough wood to start a fire with from any of these branches? They're drenched."

Hermione rounded the corner carrying a stack of wet wood. She sat down on the jungle floor, under the cover of their shelter. "Never mind that, Malfoy. Just come and help me." Draco flicked the meager sticks he'd been toying with away and walked towards her. "This wood is wet, that's obvious, but if you peel it, like this,"—she demonstrated what she meant by peeling off the bark— "it's fairly dry underneath. See?"

Draco gave a stiff nod and set to work helping her.

"Merlin, but you do turn into such a grouch when you're hungry."

He frowned. "Merlin?"

She shrugged. "Something my mistress used to say."

"I thought tropical rain was supposed to be warm," he grumbled.

"Maybe this is the island's version of winter. It could be worse. At least we have a shelter and dry blankets." She stripped off another chunk of bark before adding them to her growing pile. Draco could scarcely keep up.

"You call those blankets? Ladies' gowns and men's tunics?"

"It's better than nothing." She paused in her work, and turned to face him, eyes glittering. She placed a hand lightly on his wrist and he felt his breathing quicken. "Just think of this—before the hour is up—we'll have hot food in our stomachs tonight."

Draco mumbled something inaudible and he felt the warmth of her hand leave his. They both got back to their work, his eyes wandering over to the one fish they had managed to catch.

"Almost died for that fish."

"That's a bit dramatic and you know it. The seas were…rough, but—"

"Rough?" He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and turned to face her. "We, the both of us, fell right into that sodding lagoon. If you can call it that. Lagoons are supposed to be calm."

She chuckled. "Ever heard the story about privileged boys and silver spoons?"

He ignored her. "We're soaking wet." He stretched out his shirt for emphasis.

"We already were from the rain." She thrusted the Firecrab shell out for him. "Here, do you think you can manage filling this up with water? I've already got enough kindling."

Draco snatched the shell from her. "Oh, I think that will be easy enough, even for privileged wizards like myself." He got up and headed towards the pool, calling over his shoulder as he walked. "I don't think you'll be able to light that wood."

The sound of a spark carried over the howling wind. His head spun around, and he was stunned to see she already had the fire lit. _Bloody know-it-all_. The orange, yellow, and red flames lit up the previously drab area adding brilliant colors he had missed the past few days. He really didn't need to walk the small walk over to the waterfall; he likely could have filled the shell in a few moments by holding it up. When he returned it was overflowing.

"Suppose the rain puts it out?" Salazar's pants, he hoped not.

"I think it's strong enough, not to mention a bit more shielded." He handed her the shell and she set it down to boil on their provisional stove before reaching for his hand again. "Malfoy! Your wound, it's festering."

"It's nothing." He wrenched his hand away from her line of vision, pulling his sleeve over it. "Wizards aren't-"

"Yes, I know, _they aren't prone to filthy Muggle diseases_ , you've said so before." She spun away, heading for the side of the treehouse.

"Where are you going?"

"To get some rum."

He frowned. He'd forgotten about the rum. How had he forgotten about the rum? Perhaps it would have made the past few days much more interesting. But why was she thinking about it now?

She returned quickly, a large conch shell in her hand, seemingly filled with the liquid. "What are you playing at?" His voice was etched with alarm.

"Hush and give me your hand," she demanded. He didn't even think twice about arguing, not when she was in this kind of mood. She took his hand in hers and poured some of the rum over the aching cut. He hissed at the sting of it. "You should let me wrap it with clean linen when we get inside." She took a deep drink from the shell, before wincing. Then she took another, not twisting her face up as much the next time. "You really should have said something, Malfoy. You're not immune to infection, despite what you think. Hopefully the alcohol will cleanse it. Here." As if an afterthought, she passed him the shell, and he drained the contents completely, trying his best not to choke. He felt immediately warmed, down to his very toes, as the effects of the liquor washed over him.

He cast a sideways glance to see Hermione was already hard at work boiling the beans.

"Can you roast that fish over the fire?" she said. He complied, feeling slightly light on his feet. "Be careful with it now, you don't want to waste the meat. We don't have very much."

The smell of the beans cooking and the fish roasting soon wafted through the air, mingling with the wet smell of the earth and leaves. His stomach began to growl. He watched as she warmed herself by the fire, curling herself into a ball, and shielding herself from the pouring rain.

"Don't see why we can't take some of this fire up into the shelter tonight," Draco said, his voice coming out hoarse. "Think of how much warmer it would be."

"Because we'd burn the bloody place down, silly." She swayed in her seat. "Think about it—fire—in a tree? Not very advisable."

"Pity."

"There's another thing we could do, though." She grinned mischievously. "More rum, perhaps?"

"Are you sure that's advisable?" He recoiled at the sound of his slightly slurred words. "The weaker sex don't generally partake-"

Hermione straightened to her feet, perching her hands sassily on her hips. "Did you really just refer to me as the weaker sex, Draco Malfoy?"

"I didn't mean—"

"You're a right git; you do know that," she called over her shoulder, already leaving with the conch shell.

He really should not be allowing this. Their situation was odd to say the least, but if Mother could see him now, drinking hard liquor, and with a Muggle! Not just with any Muggle, but a female one at that? It was completely uncouth. He supposed they were both merely adapting. How could one stick strictly to the laws of society whilst stranded on a deserted island with no other signs of civilization to speak of?

She arrived with the rum and took a drink before passing some to him. He tried not to think about the fact that her lips had just been pressed against the shell as he tipped it up to take his own drink.

"I'm bored," Hermione whined, eyes hooded, in a very un-Hermione-like fashion. "Why don't you do some magic for us?"

Draco scoffed. "I can't just _do some magic_."

"You did the other day," she countered.

"That was an exception. I require a wand."

She sighed. "Why don't you just use one of those sticks over there and pretend it's a wand?"

He rolled his eyes. "It doesn't really work like that."

"Why not?"

"I don't expect a mere Muggle like you to appreciate the ancient and complex art of wandlore."

"Doesn't it get lonely up there, all by yourself on that pedestal?"

Draco shifted in his seat, feeling slightly dizzy as he did so. "I'm sorry if my words came out a bit crass. I only mean, it's not merely wood that is needed in fashioning a wand. There also must be a magical core." He glanced over to see her eyes had lit up at his explanation. The girl did so love a story. "For example, my wand has unicorn hair at its center. Some may have dragon heartstring, or phoenix feather."

"So use one of those Fwooper feathers and the wood from a tree on this island to make your own." The suggestion came out as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"It's not that simple." He chuckled. "Wandmakers study wandlore for years. I cannot simply fashion one so crudely. Not to mention the wood selected must be strong enough to encase the power of the wand. I'm not sure if I've ever heard of Fwooper feathers being used as cores."

"You never know unless you try, do you?"

"I suppose that's true." Draco found himself in much finer spirits than he'd felt previously. What was more, he didn't feel freezing at all. The liquor seemed to have heated up his entire body.

"Malfoy," she said, leaning towards him. The firelight painted her face orange and yellow in the darkness and she looked absolutely bewitching. "I'm always telling you stories; why don't you tell me one?"

His lips seemed to part of their own volition and his chest was rising and falling a bit faster than usual. "I…I don't really know any stories."

She frowned. "Really?" She pressed her lips together, deep in thought, and his eyes were drawn to those puckered lips. "Tell me about magic, then. That is your specialty, isn't it?" He nodded. "Spells. I've always been curious."

He supposed it couldn't hurt at this point. Truth be told, he'd already likely broken more Muggle to Wizard Interaction Laws than he could count. What else was he to do to pass the time? "The spells you've likely been exposed to, serving the Hornbys, are charms. Charms come in quite handy with housework."

She guffawed quite loudly. "You wouldn't see the Hornbys using their magic for _that_. They were content to let the slaves do everything the good old-fashioned Muggle way. Even when Cindy fell down the ladder and broke her arm whilst trying to clean the bannister. The most I've seen is when Lord Hornby would float the Daily Prophet to himself in the Drawing Room."

Draco did not know why such callous care of the Hornbys' slaves should bother him. When Mother needed something cleaned that was hard to get to in the manor, did she not simply use magic, or even a house elf? It seemed like a much safer route. "That's the levitation charm. You might have heard him say it—Wingardium Leviosa."

"Oh."

Emboldened by her hungry look, he continued. "Of course there are my favorites to use. Dueling spells."

"What kind of spells do you use in dueling?"

"There's the blasting curse, _Confringo_. That one's got me out of many a quandary. Simple curses, like the leg-locking spell— _Locomotor Mortis_ or the body bind— _Petrificus Totalus_ , come quite in handy. _Expulso_ is a nifty little jinx that can get you out of a tight situation. Of course there are your typical stinging hexes, tripping jinxes, and stunners."

"I know a stunner, _Stupefy_. Olive was fond of that one."

He swallowed thickly, unsure of why this should trouble him. "Yes, that's your basic dueling spell, right there. Of course there's more, darker curses, but those are what we consider classics in the wizarding world."

"Darker curses sound…fun. Perhaps you could tell me about those next time?" She leaned over to remove the fish from the fire and start preparing their meal.

He knew he should be annoyed that a Muggle should have the gall to ask about business they should have no knowledge about. But that was one thing about Hermione he begrudgingly admired. If there was something she wanted to know, she didn't fancy not knowing it. It went against her nature, so it would seem. If the subject caught her interest, she would harp away until she learned all she could about it. Draco would kid, and call her an insufferable know-it-all, but deep down, he appreciated her inquisitive nature.

"Here," she said, handing him the beans and fish. "Eat up."

They ate together in silence, each relishing in the hearty, hot meal before them. Draco thought the meal divine. Hermione seemed to know just how to season things—not too much, or too little.

When they were through, she handed him his fish bone before taking her own, and he could not help rolling his eyes.

"Clean your teeth," she instructed. "And then rinse with the ocean water because we've been eating a lot of fruit lately."

"Why are you so insistent on this?"

She put her hands on her hips, but if she meant to look authoritative, the effect was ruined when she wobbled quite precariously. "Suppose you get a pomegranate seed stuck in between your gums? It will likely turn into an abscess. I already explained that seemingly little things can kill you out here, Malfoy."

"I don't see how you know so bloody much about everything."

"Muggle school. The Romans were very pro-dental hygiene. They chewed volcanic rock to clean their teeth. Very abrasive. I think our tactic is better."

Unsurprisingly, the rain still hadn't yielded by the time they cleaned up and put out the fire. The stairs leading up to their shelter were slippery, and they relied heavily on the wooden rail for support. Once safely inside, Draco shut the crudely built door, sealing off the brunt of the wind and rain. Even though the moon was fairly full, only a little light escaped into the room.

Now that he was tucked away from the elements, he became acutely aware of just how cold and wet he was.

"Here." Hermione handed him a pair of dry trousers. "Your shirts are still wet." She indicated to the drenched clothes she had laid to dry earlier. "But at least you have those." She walked over to the corner of the room where they'd hung a sheet to serve as a dressing screen. "I hope that rain lets up tomorrow. I miss the sun."

Moving quietly to his bed in the corner, Draco peeled off his wet shirt and trousers and pulled on his dry ones. He sat down heavily, wincing at the soreness of his muscles. He hauled himself to the end of the bed, looking forward to resting somewhere dry and soft, even if he was beginning to feel chilled again. He heard a sound and his eyes darted to the panel where Hermione was changing. He could just barely see her shadow through the screen, thanks to the scant moonlight, and watched her wet dress hit the floor.

His throat went suddenly dry. He knew he should pull his eyes away, physically wrench his head to the side, if need be, but he found himself suddenly frozen. Blood thundered in his ears and his pulse galloped as his eyes strained to see the shadow of her soft curves. He shouldn't be looking, but Merlin, he couldn't help himself. She bent over, presumably reaching for her dry shift, and Draco couldn't even breathe as he watched her shimmy into it. His head whirled and heat rushed to his nether regions. He felt like a ruddy teenage boy. _Get a grip!_ He was hard pressed to heed his advice; his breathing grew ragged.

"I don't even feel like going to sleep just yet, Malfoy," she said from behind the screen. "It can't be more than eight, maybe nine in the evening."

He swallowed thickly, wincing when his voice came out hoarse. "Too dark to do much of anything, anyways."

"We can talk. Tell stories." She came out from behind the panel and he could just make out a bright smile. "Unless, of course, you're sleepy—" Her long strides were interrupted as she tripped over something in the dark. Draco was on his feet in seconds, steadying her. His left hand caught her right wrist while his right curled around her hip, pulling her up.

She was breathing shallowly, her chest a scant few inches from his, and she seemed to be frozen in stone. If he had felt affected by the sight of her changing before, her close proximity intensified it even more so.

"Sorry," she said throatily. "I do tend to be a bit clumsy."

"And you did consume more rum than a lady should ever venture to drink."

She erupted in a fit of giggles and for whatever odd reason, he got the strange sensation that a flock of flitterbies were flapping wildly behind his ribcage. Exhaling a shaky breath, he led her to her own bed, if it even deserved that name, opposite of his.

"You sure have quick reflexes." She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed.

"Years of Quidditch training paid off, I suppose."

"You're a Quidditch player?" She curled into a ball, feet disappearing under the hem of her shift.

"Since I was eleven." How he longed for his broom. Not even for home, really, just his broom. "It would be incredible to explore this island on my Moontrimmer."

"Moontrimmer?"

"That's the latest model in Britain. Comes fully equipped with a cushioning charm."

"That's a clever idea." Her teeth chattered as she spoke.

He frowned. "Get under the covers, at least, Hermione."

She nodded absently and complied. "Malfoy, would you take me flying with you?"

"If I had my broom? That would be highly illegal," he trailed off, then flashed her a smile. "But I suppose we've broken enough laws, what's another?" He got under the covers, pulling them tightly around him.

"Have we broken so many?"

"The talk of magic and whatnot, mainly. I'm allowed to perform it in front of you, of course, but-"

"You're not supposed to have a conversation about it with me, like as if I were an actual person."

He hesitated. "Well…yes."

She was silent for a moment, as if pondering his words. Draco wondered if he had offended her. She was such an odd creature. It was almost as if she expected equal treatment from a wizard. But she was his _only companion_ , and if he had a choice, he supposed he'd rather be stuck with her than many witches he'd come to know back in Britain. Even if she descended from filth, she still kept better company, and that was saying something.

"So is that what you'd want, then, if you could do anything?" He felt her eyes on him, more than saw them. "To go flying, I mean."

He stared unblinkingly up to the ceiling. "If I could do anything, I would get myself off of this wretched island," he informed her, rather bluntly.

"Oh."

He felt a stab of guilt, and though silly as it was, felt compelled to ask her the same. "What would you do, if you could do anything, that is?"

"Read books. Loads and loads of them."

"You're not going to get that here."

"I know. But it's not as if I would be allowed to read freely if we returned to Britain, either."

"When," he corrected sharply. "And when we get off of this island, you can rest assured I would take care of you."

She merely hummed something inaudible in answer. A thought struck him, the insufferable Muggle was so concerned with his well-being, but what if she succumbed to some filthy Muggle ailment herself? "Are you quite warm?" He glanced over his shoulder and could just barely see she was shivering slightly under the covers.

"I'm fine, Malfoy."

He sighed. "No, you aren't." He whipped his covers to the side. "Well, come on, then."

She stilled. "W-what?"

"I won't see you catch your death of cold. Then who will cook for me? The wisest thing to do is share a bed on cold nights like this."

She shot up to a sitting position, clutching her blanket tightly around her. "You can't be serious. Malfoy! That's just…you shouldn't…why…it's _improper_."

"Sorry to scandalize you so, princess."

"I mean…is that very…"

"Please, don't embarrass yourself. It's nothing like _that_. You're the one that's been harping the whole, you-must-survive-and-adapt spiel. That's what I'm doing."

"Oh."

"It's never a good thing to render you speechless."

"No, no. You're absolutely right and I'm just being silly. It makes a lot of sense to…er, share body heat. And blankets. Yes, I can bring my blanket."

"Your oversized ladies' gown that's been made for a giant, you mean?"

"You act like it's my fault. I just found it that way." She straightened from her bed, gathering her bedding, and walking over to him. He opened up the covers and she crawled up next to him. Draco felt suddenly plagued with doubt. It had seemed like a good idea, but now that she was up this close, with her freesia scent assaulting his nostrils, and her warm breath tickling his arm… _this is a terrible idea!_

"Can you please keep that bush you call hair out of my face?"

"Sorry." She tucked her hair behind her ears and positioned herself as far from him as she could. "I was just rubbing my head; it aches."

"Are you dizzy?"

"Yes."

"Let me help," he said. "Turn over that way."

"Okay."

He moved to his side and hesitated for a moment. She was facing away from him and he was free to drink in what little he could see of her to his heart's content. Her hair wasn't really bushy. Truthfully, the chestnut curls had felt soft against his cheek. He wondered how they would feel in between his fingers.

"If we were on my ship, I would offer you a potion, Nott's speciality for hangovers."

"Oh, would you have? Because I was treated so well whilst aboard last time." The sarcasm was not lost on him.

He slid his hand to the back of her head, lifting up the heavy fringe of hair. Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. "It's why ladies should not partake in spirits. Now do you see? Far too fragile." His fingers carded through her silky tresses and he used his thumb to press into the base of her head as he massaged her scalp. She was tense for a moment, before she visibly relaxed, letting out a blissful sigh of contentment.

"I'm _not_ fragile."

"Perhaps not as fragile as most, but still fragile."

Her head dropped to allow him better access, moving with the encouragement of his fingers.

"Does that feel better?"

"Yes," she breathed, biting her lip.

"It will be worse tomorrow. It's really too bad we don't have Nott's potion." He pulled her awkwardly to his side, careful not to brush against certain areas, but she practically melted against him, clearly thoroughly relaxed.

"This was a great idea, Malfoy. I'm quite warm now." She yawned and he almost lurched away when her bum nearly brushed right up against him.

 _Oh, yes, this was by far my greatest idea yet. I'm sure to get loads of sleep tonight, with this bloody vixen in my arms._

Unsure where to put his hands, he placed one above his head and rested his fingertips lightly over her hip.

"Now, about that story you promised me."

He was compelled to remind her. "I promised you no such thing."

"That's not very fair."

"Storytelling isn't exactly my forte, I've already told you."

"I suppose you did share some spell knowledge, so that's something at least." The girl burrowed further into his side, as if completely comfortable with their arrangement. Draco could not complain; it had been his idea after all. "There is one story, about a boy and two girls."

"This sounds promising."

"They were born long ago, back when Muggles lived in caves."

"How primitive."

"Yes, they didn't much care for it, either. They built their homes above ground, in trees, sort of like we did."

"Were they magical?"

"A much more ancient magic; one that did not require wands or spells. It was baser, connected to the earth. They tried to guide the aboriginals, show them better ways. In fact, they did so through the ages."

"Through the ages?"

"They were not immortals, but they were reborn again. Sometimes they would be spread across the earth, but they always managed to find each other, except for once."

"Oh?"

Her voice took on a dreamy tone. "Once, the girl was born on a far-off continent from their own. Deep in the jungles, beyond the reach of civilization. She yearned for the comradery of her friends from her past lives, but she knew they would not be united in this one. It was okay—she decided to make the best of it. She learned much from the people. She honed her magic and perfected her meditation. She found her inner self sooner than she had in other lives and did great things in her new body. It did not last forever, of course. Like all other times before, death came for her. The next time around, they were born in Egypt, all three of them, and maybe others they had come to know through their lifetimes. But it was different this time. The boy and the girl who had been together the previous life treated the girl who had been separated like an outcast. There was no longer the unity she had come to look forward to, nor the joy of learning. They seemed sure they knew everything and they turned their attentions elsewhere."

"To taking over the world?"

"How did you know?"

"I've heard this story before, about the Old Souls, that is. But never quite told _like that_."

"I don't see how you could have heard it, Malfoy." He could hear the frown in her voice. "I made it up. Or dreamt it up, actually."

"You must have picked tidbits up over time and then embellished them. But do continue."

"That's it. I'm not sure what happens next."

"I can help you there," he said with a smirk. "The girl and boy you spoke of, they united against the other girl. They made her drink of the elixir so that she would have immortality. According to legend, they bound her and hid her from ever being found again and subsequently eliminated the chance of her being reborn with the chance to stop them."

"That's despicable, Malfoy. They were _friends_!"

"It's just a story. A myth."

"I know, but still."

"You're the storyteller. Make up a happier ending next time."

"I will," she assured him. "When I retell it, I'll find a way for the girl to break out of her binds, because no one should have to endure _that_." She stayed quiet for a while, and Draco thought she may have fallen asleep, but then she spoke up once more. "At least you admitted something tonight."

"What's that?"

"That you need me." He could hear the smile in her words and he didn't flinch away this time when she leaned her head against his neck, distracting curls and all.

Awareness of the girl before him hummed through his body, and though he certainly no longer felt chilled, he thought the heat he now felt may consume him. At the very least, he was sure he wouldn't get any sleep that evening.

He was proved wrong, however, when the sound of the rain landing softly on the shelter inevitably lulled him to sleep. Despite his concerns, that night brought the best night's sleep he'd ever had on the island.

 **000**


	6. Chapter 6: The Slip-up

**A/N: Again I tried to give you guys another super quick update! Your reviews and feedback have been super encouraging and it's great incentive to get updates out. I hope I can keep up this pace. This story is def my priority right now. The dramione heats up a bit in this chapter C:**

 **Beta Love to:** **Carrington Shaw and RooOJoy**

 **Inspiration: Tag, Your It from the Suicide Squad Soundtrack**

 **Thanks for follows/favorites/reviews: mega700201, Mistress DragonFlame , I was BOTWP , sleeplygirl , EStrunk , pgoodrichboggs, purpleninjacow, sunshinealeia, riddlesgurl86, daswhoiam, , chibi-Clar, HereToRead84 , Green Eyed Lana Lee , Beth, LastBornSlytherin , AnnaOxford , LeanaM, and the guests!**

* * *

 **000**

Shuffling through pages of parchment, King Riddle scanned the proposal, flipping through the drawings, whilst occasionally stopping to make additions of his own. In the end, he was uncharacteristically pleased with the suggestions put forth by his advisers.

"I suppose that will do," he said graciously, offering the sheaf of papers to his steward. "See that Azkaban is fortified with this exact Runic structure, and that my new wizarding prisons are outfitted just the same. I don't want to hear that any missteps were taken."

"E-excellency," Lord Avery ventured tentatively. "Is that not time-consuming and costly?"

Lord McNair nodded in agreement. "Yes. Would it not be more prudent to invest treasury funds elsewhere, like our fleets or our schools?"

" _No, it would not be more prudent_ ," King Riddle sneered. "I swear to Salazar if I hear one more report about a Mudblood whose transfigured themselves into a firefly and flown off from Azkaban, I'll sooner Avada every member of this council. I should say that would be _far more prudent_." The men visibly recoiled at his words. "With these wards in place and Runes inscribed in the foundation, there won't be anymore Mudbloods discovering an affinity for wandless Transfiguration."

"But Your Highness." Lord Avery's voice came out in a squeak. "Wouldn't it be simpler, not to mention cheaper, to merely…get rid of the Mudbloods for good?"

Cheaper, most assuredly. But beneficial to his purposes, _entirely not_. Especially when he'd worked painstakingly to build his very own magical siphoning system inside Azkaban.

"Are you of the belief we actually hold these counsel sessions so that you _fine Lords_ may counsel _me_?" King Riddle asked, mockery laced in his voice. The Lords shifted uncomfortably under his intense scrutiny. "You come here to receive your orders—that is all—make no mistake of that." He paced around the opulent chamber, green robes curling around him. "Speaking of fine Lords, when will the illustrious Lord Malfoy return? Has he had enough fun gallivanting on his hopeless mission yet?"

Avery and McNair exchanged pathetic looks.

"He's only been gone a few days, Excellency," McNair hazarded, carefully.

King Riddle's eyebrows scrunched up in a delicate frown. "Is that all? It seemed longer. I do wish I had declined his request. It will be hard to Owl him on the sea. Speaking of which, I mean to find out exactly how Potter's managing communication aboard his ships."

 _Potter._ Riddle spat the word in his mind. _The wretched rebel has caused me more grief than anyone has ever succeeded in doing before, and, regrettably, lived to tell. Not for long. But what's worse, my witch…_

He made a valiant effort to shake himself, remembering his present, rather unpleasant company. With a flippant gesture, he dismissed them. "Be off with you."

With as much dignity as they could muster, they straightened, mumbling their goodbyes.

King Riddle withdrew to his private chambers, deep in thought. It was mildly unsettling to have the young Malfoy heir missing. He had thought the lad doomed, until the elder Malfoy had mentioned Draco had yet to be immortalized in a family portrait.

Unsettling indeed.

For if Draco was not resting in a watery grave, then what the bloody hell was he doing? How was he surviving?

Of the haughty Purebloods, he supposed the Malfoys were a favorite of his. Begrudgingly, they had gained his respect, though of course he was wary of them. It was not good for a king to let any family get too powerful, so he contrived hardships to throw at them over the years. But they were trustworthy and they were proved valuable assets.

Truly, King Riddle had hoped to use Draco and his friends for missions in the Americas. He knew the young wizards thirsted for adventure, but what was more exciting than the new world? He could have used their skill in Tikal. Unfortunately, there were not many British wizards on the team. He would have preferred more from his own court be present. Still, he would never presume to force those such as Draco. When the time came, they needed to believe it was their decision. He allowed for these silly trips across the ocean if only because they were profitable and he was benevolent.

His benevolence only spread so far.

Soon, the younger wizards would need to take their father's places and join the folds.

King Riddle hoped, for Draco's sake, that if he was still alive, he would have legitimate reasons for being absent for so long. It would never do to find the young Malfoy had turned against his king.

 **000**

The sounds of brooms whizzing past the bamboo stands reverberated through the air. The rain had let up for a moment, but the threat of it returning still lay heavy in the dark clouds. The island was drenched, and the wetness brought out the inherent fragrances of the island from the smell of the earth to that of the flowers, mingled with the salty ocean scent.

New Godric's Hollow was alive with people, eager to finally leave their homes now that the rain had let up, even if just for a moment. The freshwater river that cut through the village had curls of steam billowing up from it. Harry looked around appreciatively—there was nothing quite like returning to New Godric's.

Tracey draped herself over his lap, snaking one arm around his neck. "It's so good to be home," she said, sighing happily. "Though," she poked him in the chest, "I do wish you'd join the guys. Some Quidditch might be good for you."

His eyes were drawn to the enthusiastic wizards in the sky. "Perhaps next time, pet."

Tracey pressed her lips in a petulant pout.

"I'm happy to be an observer for once."

"There has been a lot of action lately." She adjusted herself on his lap, grinning wickedly as she did so. "I suppose there are other ways to pass the time…."

He shifted her off of his lap. "Not just now. I still need to think on things."

Tracey's eyes flashed dangerously. "You can't still be hung up on that girl, can you? Really, Harry, you need to get over that already." She stood up, dusting off her dress. "It was a successful expedition. You should be happy. We even found another Muggleborn all too happy to join our ranks."

He wished Tracey would let off for a bit. She did like to pester him so. In reality, he knew he should be happy, thankful even. Things could have gone much worse than they had. He was lucky to boast of the best soldiers a man could ask for. His witches and wizards could run circles around Riddle's—he was sure of that. But Riddle had control of the Ministry, and the communication lines. He sat on the throne, and he would always be one step ahead of them so long as he held the position of power. Harry could not allow himself to become complacent or enjoy a moment of triumph so long as Riddle still ruled Britain. Despite their best advances, Riddle was slowly taking over the world—the new and the old. There was nothing to celebrate.

He wished Tracey could understand the burden he carried. So many people relied on him. It was hardly fun and games. Should he make one wrong move, countless lives could pay the price for his misstep. What was more, no one was safe until Riddle was dealt with. The problem was, he was nigh untouchable, locked away in the palace as he was. _If I can get to his second in command, I can get to him._

Attempting to store those thoughts for later, he thought it may be best if he did actually loosen his tight hold over the community for the weekend. Their island was hidden. So long as they were here, his people were safe. He could contemplate his next move against Riddle in private when he didn't have to worry about others worrying over him.

He glanced back at Tracey, realizing he still had yet to respond to her. "Good point, Trace." He smiled reassuringly at her. "Speaking of which, where is our newest citizen?"

"Up there, I guess." The blond witch pointed to the adjacent stands.

Focusing on the woman in front of him, his grin grew wider. "Suppose we show our newest addition the ropes? That is, if you're not rusty on a broom…."

"I'm not rusty," she protested, her eyes becoming alight and playful. "I'll show you that on the field."

He chuckled at her eagerness. Perhaps this was just what they needed; a slight break to get their head back in the game. After they've had a week or two of rest, they could go back to planning a way in which to hit Riddle where it hurt—a fatal blow from which he would be unable to bounce back.

 **000**

 _His breath was like a caress against the skin of her neck; his hands running along her sides and her abdomen caused her breathing to grow erratic. Her lips parted and their tongues met in a frenzied haze. Blood rushed to her core as she moved against the muscular body in front of her. It was as if the floodgates had been opened and all of a sudden, she was helpless to stave off her desire any longer._

 _She gripped onto strong shoulders, anchoring herself to something stable in a room that was spinning in an indistinguishable blur around her. She relished in the feel of their bodies pressed so decadently close to each other and she had the innate desire to explore every inch of him with her hands…and her mouth._

 _He latched onto a pulse point by her neck, sensitive and charged, tearing a ragged moan from her mouth. She didn't care; she didn't even try to muffle it. So in tune was she to her lover, she was past the point of caring for propriety. She was being ruled by something far more primitive and primal than what society dictated._

 _His right hand wandered down to her breast and she instinctively arched off of the bed, all too eager to feel that_ _part of her finally get the attention she desired. Small sounds were escaping her throat, inaudible whimpers that should have mortified her, but she was hard-pressed to care._

 _When his head bent down to take the place of his hand, she encouraged it, lightly stroking the back of his neck with her fingertips. When he settled between her legs, she accommodated him by shifting her legs wider, to make it easier, oh gods, she wanted to make it easier. When his left hand curled around her calf, before edging around her thigh towards the part of her that was nearly aching with need of his touch, she made impatient demands, threats, finally resorting to begging, despite the dark chuckle that left his lips._

 _The man did seem to love to torture her so._

 _She would not let him have the last laugh. In a wicked gesture, she reached for him, the part of him that throbbed for her, the heated flesh that had caused the fabric of his trousers to grow taut. Her fingers found him and she gave him a gentle squeeze. All mirth fled the molten silver eyes that instantly darkened with lust. The sound he made was heavenly to her ears—heady and full of need. It called to her, beckoning her to him in the most basic and ancient of ways._

 _To her delight—his restraint snapped. The feel of his fingers inside her sent sweet joy coursing through her on a rampant wave of bliss. She reached for the fabric of his shirt—ripping and tearing at it—determined to free him of his constraints. Her dress was quite suddenly bunched up at her hips, and then it was heated flesh against heated flesh._

 _But it was divine._

 _Heavenly, really, because he was almost there, right where she needed him most, and in a few seconds he would finally assuage her raw, all-consuming need._

The thought brought Hermione such joy, it caused her to bolt upright with a gasp.

That is, she would have sat upright, if something weren't anchoring her down, like a bloody vice. Her eyes flew open, for the first time, and she realized, to her absolute horror, she'd been dreaming.

 _Good Merlin, what the bloody hell is wrong with me?_ Her chest rose and fell in short pants as she tried in vain to calm her shallow breathing. _To behave so wantonly, and have that sort of dream. It's just mad!_

She glanced down to see what exactly it was—a tree limb, perhaps?—that was restraining her so. The offending confinement happened to be a well-toned arm that caused her to blush red when she remembered just who the arm belonged to. Her eyelids fluttered shut as visions from her dream assaulted her. To her chagrin, the pit of her abdomen still ached, _deliciously_ , and just the reminder of what she'd conjured in her head intensified the feeling tenfold.

 _Sweet Morgana, this is mad! And what in Merlin's name am I doing in Malfoy's bed? Did I perhaps,vacate my senses completely last night?_ Memories of the night came flooding back to her in a rum-filled haze. _Why, oh, why did I think it was a good idea to join Malfoy in his bed, of all things? It's not like I don't know what sort of message that sends._

She focused all her attention on lifting his arm from its possessive position around her abdomen, trying desperately to _not_ think about the hot body pressed against her—the body that had kept her surprisingly warm the night before. With tremendous effort, she managed to lift it, but her victory was short-lived as the problematic-wizard-in-question then proceeded to pull her even closer still, this time going as far as to throw his leg over hers. She was now completely and effectively trapped.

She let out several shallow gasps, her mind working frantically on how just to finagle getting out of this awkward position. This was much worse than before. Not only was she in a death grip in the bed of a man she had no business being, but there was something long and hard poking her bum, on the verge of impaling her, if Hermione had any sort of guess.

Attempting to shift her position, she squirmed in the little amount of space available to her. An audible moan left Malfoy's mouth and her eyes flew open. Even though he was still sleeping, his breathing had sped up considerably. _Good Merlin, that couldn't possibly be…it's not his…oh gods—it's his erection!_ Her mouth went suddenly dry. Her senses became instantly heightened and she was painstakingly aware of every move he made.

His breath ghosted along her neck in short, raspy breaths and it was all she could do _not_ to arch her head back. The hand securing her to him began wandering, and Hermione knew she should try to escape again, but she was frozen in place, even when he began to _move himself_ behind her. _Get a grip, you slag! He is the one asleep, he has an excuse._ But no matter, what she told herself, she was helpless to move an inch. Her body was stuck somewhere between paralyzed fear and delicious anticipation.

Her breathing had sped up rapidly and blood rushed to her neck and face. Her head whirled with a burning desire she was helpless to ignore. Malfoy moved against her once more, his erection twitching, and Hermione knew it was imperative that she stop this. But his hands, they were so distracting; though clumsy and sleep-addled as they were, they left a fiery trail wherever they touched through the flimsy and worn fabric of her dress.

She was growing quite suddenly hot, and the desire to move was almost instinctive. Before she knew it, she moved _with him_ , relishing in the friction that sent tingles to her core. She instantly regretted the wicked action, but the sound Malfoy made in his sleep was almost beautiful, quite like in her dream, and when she screwed her eyes shut, all she could see were intense gray ones that had the uncanny ability to cut right through her. It hardly staved off the fire of her desire, but rather, fanned it.

Yet, they were friends, despite everything, all the feelings and prejudices, they had formed a tentative friendship built on trust and respect. She was confusing gratitude and affection for longing. She needed to step back from the situation before she did something she couldn't take back. His right hand had found its way to her hip and she was surprised by the strength in which he gripped it, even in his sleep.

Squeezing her eyes shut against another heady wave of desire, she exhaled a shaky breath. "Malfoy," she hissed, and renewed her wriggling efforts, marveling at the way Malfoy seemed to sleep right through it. _Just breathe, you idiot._ "Malfoy," she tried again. He shifted slightly, and she stilled when she sensed his breathing had changed. She dared not even breathe as she waited for him to make the first move.

He sat up quickly, distancing himself from her, her body instantly mourning the loss of his contact. She curled towards the edge of the bed, away from his warmth, as she tried to calm her breathing and her body's ill-advised plea to fling herself back into his arms. Resisting the urge, she was surprised when he actually addressed her.

"I'll be right back," he said, his voice coming out like a croak. "Going to break water."

Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Good Merlin, how was she ever supposed to look him in the eye again? This was humiliating. What did he think when he awoke— _in that state?_ What did he think of her? Did he remember anything that had happened while he'd been asleep? She hoped not, but then, from a small part of her she'd rather deprive, a voice hoped she did, that small singular part that had been free and uninhibited for a moment.

When he returned, nearly a half an hour later, Hermione was already dressed and making breakfast.

"You know," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably, "we probably shouldn't."

"Yes, I know," she said, looking down quickly. "It was just the rum."

"Yeah." He nodded in agreement. "The rum."

Were things really going to be awkward between them?

"Looks like the rain let up," he said offhandedly.

 _Resorted to talking about the weather_ , she thought. _Oh, bugger._

 **000**

Draco could hex himself for waking up like _that_ next to _her_. What was more, he was still uncomfortably hard. He hadn't been able to rid himself of his little problem the entire morning. He longed for his wand, so he could at least attempt to conceal it; instead he just hid it the old-fashioned way inside his trousers. Whose great idea was it to share a bed the prior evening, anyhow? _Mine, you bloody fool._ What a great idea.

The morning was moving along terribly. The insufferable girl would avert her eyes anytime he glanced her way. It was bloody off-putting. There was no doubt in his mind that she had noticed. He hadn't behaved gentlemanly. His intentions on sharing a bed had even been coming from a good place; now she would never trust him again. _It's her sodding fault; she's the one who was in my bed, all soft, pliant curves._ He mentally jerked the thought from his mind. That was exactly the sort of thing he ought to _not_ think about.

It wouldn't be so terrible a notion—if she weren't a Muggle.

Draco was well aware of the predicaments some Muggles were subjected to; it wasn't as if he were sheltered. He knew that some wizards took on Muggle mistresses. But this was a practice he had always looked down on. Of course, he'd never had any issues getting a witch, so he'd never entertained the notion, but he'd always frowned upon it. Horrible business, he had thought. His father and his grandfather before him never partook in such activities. And here he was fantasizing about one.

For he couldn't deny that, at the very release, he had definitely fantasized about her. Even if it had been in a dream, she had been the object of his affections; there was no point denying it. He could debate as to why or how his subconscious could select her for him to dream about, but there was no point, really. He'd been studying her for weeks, and the fact was, he'd come to crave her company.

Even now, as he scraped and scrubbed the shells and stones, he watched her wade through the water, her white dress floating gracefully around her in the turquoise blue of the Caribbean sea. He snuck glances when he could—surreptitiously, of course, lest he give her more cause to be wary of him-and noticed the way she bent her back, dipping the linen into the water and wringing it out. He saw the way the fabric clung to her figure and his eyes roved over backside unchecked, admiring her from afar. She probably felt the intensity of his gaze, but when she turned to look, he was quick to busy himself at the task at hand.

There was no doubt he was attracted to her. That wasn't the issue. The issue was her impure blood status. He did not wish to become the monster that would force a powerless Muggle girl to his will. What was more, it was beneath him. _You could always woo her,_ a small voice suggested _, lure her with sweet nothings. You could tell her whatever she needed to hear, so long as she let you._ Let him. It was beneath him, he was compelled to remind himself. He was a Pureblood of noble birth. She was a lowly Muggle. It was the sodding island that forced him to even consider such a thing. He would never think this way in his right mind.

He pushed the thoughts aside, trying hard not to focus on the face that so constantly plagued his thoughts. That wild mane of hair, a combination of golds, copper, and browns. The floral, freesia scent that seemed to be intrinsically her, no artifice needed. The dark fringe of eyelashes encasing the most inquisitive honey-brown eyes he'd ever seen. The splattering of freckles gracing her nose that Draco had to peer to see. She consumed him, and now more than ever. His efforts to put thoughts of her aside were futile. He was perfectly torn in his desire.

He was startled out of his musings when the girl in question caught his attention. She was fighting the tide to climb back up the beach, an armful of linens in her arms. He instinctively moved to help her, dropping the stone on the sand as he jogged over to the water.

"You move with the rip tide, Hermione," he called out over the splash of the waves.

"Have you finally found some area you're more knowledgeable about than I?" she asked saucily.

He ignored the jibe, offering his hand to steady her. She hesitated for a moment, eyeing it with trepidation, before finally taking it. She'd waited a second too long, and soon, another wave sent her propelling into him, tumbling them both to the sandy floor. He rolled away from the crashing waves, finding himself poised just above her, and staring into fiery eyes that had avoided his gaze for most of the day.

His stare was inexplicably drawn to her lips, slightly parted. Blood thundered in his ears as he watched the rise and fall of her chest, moving faster than usual. He reached out tentatively, entranced, to brush her cheek with his thumb. Pulse galloping, he shifted closer, unsure of what possessed him to do so.

The feel of her hands pushing softly against his chest halted him.

"The linens," she breathed. "They're floating away."

His head cleared and he quickly stood to his feet. "I'll get them," he said reassuringly.

He waded back into the water, chasing after the sheets the surf pulled and pushed. When he'd collected it all, he headed back to the beach. _Bugger, I scared her off again. Twice in one day, bloody brilliant._ Hermione did not seem to be visibly affected, busy as she was. Still, he needed to tread carefully. He wasn't even sure what he wanted; he couldn't begin to imagine what it was that she desired.

"Fish and mango salad sound good to you?" She packed the rest of the shells and stones in a sheet and slung it over her shoulder, walking off for the fringe of trees. He followed after her.

"I'm craving steak, actually. Hot vegetables, too. Got any of that?"

She shot him a sardonic grin. "Wouldn't we all like that. At least you've gotten to try steak before."

He frowned, in a look that could only be described as bewildered. "You haven't had steak?"

"Oh, yes, _Master Malfoy_ ," she laughed derisively. "Twice daily, actually. Once after I polish the floors and again after I scrub the kitchen."

"That's just another thing you'll have to try, one of these days."

She nodded but fell silent, as she often did when he spoke of home.

When they reached their camp, they fell into routine, moving quickly to set up their lunch. Draco passed Hermione the flat stones that served as plates, hissing when she brushed against his old cut.

"Malfoy!" She dropped what she was doing and grabbed ahold of his wrist. "The cut is still festering. Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's fine." He tried to pull it away, but her grip was relentless.

"No, _it isn't fine_ ," she muttered distractedly, dragging him by the arm towards their pool. "You're far too proud for your own good, not to mention quite stupid."

"Anything else?" He rolled his eyes.

"I'll think of something."

She bent down by the pool and he was forced to follow suit. Still holding his hand, she dipped it into the water, shaking it a few times for good measure. When she withdrew it, she looked up at him quickly— _too quickly_ —before biting her lip. He did not miss the concern tinged with alarm that passed through her gaze and was unsure if he should be touched by her distress over his harmless cut, or annoyed.

He almost chuckled, when he felt it, something unmistakable. It coursed through her hand and to his in a cool, soothing ball of energy. It was gone in an instant, but he recognized it for what it was.

Even though he was out in in the open, he abruptly felt like the space was closing in on him. His vision was starting to blur and his pulse pounded rapidly at his temples.

"Hermione," he rasped, eyes scrunched in disbelief.

"W-what?"

"You think I didn't feel that?" His hand fell to her wrist and suddenly, it was he that was holding her captive. "That I wouldn't recognize that which I was made to wield?"

"I don't know what you mean," she snapped, trying to break away from him but failing miserably. "You've spent too much time in the sun, is what I think."

"Is that so?" His tone was dangerously quiet. "Because what I think is… _you're a Mudblood_."

Caramel eyes collided with stormy gray ones.

"Don't be silly." She tried to push him away again, but he didn't release her. "We've been on this island for weeks, surely you'd have noticed such a thing by now."

"Do not try to turn this around on me, Mudblood." Alarm, fear, anger, and finally determination flickered through her eyes. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was correct. "I know what you are. You couldn't possibly think you'd hide it from me forever."

For a brief moment, she looked like a vulnerable girl, frightened and searching for a way out. The moment passed so quickly, he had to wonder if he'd even seen it to begin with. She ducked her head away.

When she looked up again, the fight had left her face, giving way to cruel indifference so unfamiliar on her face. "So you've ousted me." She shrugged carelessly. "Took you long enough."

Enraged, he moved to grab her with his other arm, to do what, he wasn't sure, but he didn't get the chance, as a red light erupted between them, sending him catapulting back into the air until he landed flat on his back.

His whole body ached and his back throbbed as he lay stunned, staring up at the cloudy sky.

She stepped forward until she was close enough to peer over him. "I told you I was quite familiar with Stupefies."

 **000**


	7. Chapter 7: Fallout

**A/N: Back with another update-I didn't want to leave you hanging for too long what with that awful cliffie. Some fall out here and we will be meeting some new additions to the story we've only so far seen mentioned, then the action will pick up once more! I don't know if you guys saw, but I posted another dramione this past weekend, a dark voldy-wins au. I'm trying to decide whether to write for this story, that story, or my new tomione for** **nanowrimo this year. Thoughts? I can only choose one, so three wip's would be neglected during the challenge in November. Again, thanks for all the feedback! I love hearing from everyone and it's totally keeping the creative juices flowing. Happy reading!**

 **Beta Love to: Carrington Shaw and RooOJoy**

 **Inspiration: Once Upon A December and a big thanks to my pals in the FB group FanFiction for Potter Lovers for all the encouragement! (Ya'll keep me writing like a mad woman!)**

 **Thanks for the follows/favorites/reviews: RunningQuill, LastBornSlytherin, , sleeplygirl, Mistress DragonFlame, Dehaev, I was BOTWP, crisisnotaverted, SlytherinQueen3571, purpleninjacow, Green Eyed Lana Lee, EStrunk, pgoodrichboggs, chibi-Clar, Gingercat55, daswhoiam, mega700201, valentinalondono3597, APeaceOfPie4Everybody011, LeanaM, AnnaOxford, Lindsey, SlytherinPrincessNurse1994 and the guests!**

* * *

 **000**

"This certainly presents a problem," Barrons remarked, stroking his chin. "Suppose we can go around?"

Thorfinn eyed the gorge speculatively, darting his eyes between the rushing river below and the tattered and ruined bridge, if it could even be considered such a thing, in front of them.

"Well?" Thorfinn said, looking at the Muggle guide. "Is there a way around it?"

It was slightly demoralizing that they had to resort to relying on the local Muggles for help, but they were hard-pressed for an alternative. South New World was largely underdeveloped, unlike its sister country in the north. Like it or not, they had no maps or knowledge of the land, so for the time being, the Muggles would need to be tolerated and used as resources.

The timid man conversed with his countrymen in a language completely foreign to Thorfinn. This also bothered him. It was not preferential for Muggles to have their own secret language magicfolk could not decipher, but wizards had yet to learn the local tongue.

In broken English mixed with a good bit of pantomiming, the guide explained that the gorge was a canal of sorts, and the pyramid of Tikal could only be found on the other side.

The Russian, as the men had come to call the intimidating dark-haired wizard to Thorfinn's left, swore. "If only you English had brought the brooms. I thought you English loved your brooms."

"Yes," Barrons said. "Why did your team not have the fortitude to pack brooms, Rowle?"

"Regrettably, I must take the blame for that." Thorfinn sighed. "I didn't see the need for brooms, not with our Muggle envoy. Side-Along Apparition seemed the best form of travel, at the time."

The Russian nodded. "Apparition would have worked."

"Barrons." He gestured to the Frenchman's map. "Be sure to include that on there."

"The deep trench." Barrons was already scratching away with his quill.

Thorfinn shook his head. "That this is a magical area."

The Russian looked up, surprised. "The locals know about it," he reminded them. "How can it be magical?"

"If we can't Apparate or Disapparate, then it's clearly magical." Thorfinn suppressed a flicker of irritation. As the only Englishman on Riddle's royal mission, he was of course the leader, but that didn't make his job any easier. The foreign wizards despised him, likely for his closeness to the court as well as the favor he held with the King. He had no doubts that if this mission went sour, everyone would be quick to place the blame on him. There was little to no trust with this team, especially with a mission that was doomed from the start.

His mother had been delighted to host King Riddle at Rowle Manor during Solstice season. Indeed, she'd even commented perhaps it wasn't just the Malfoy's and the Nott's who would be in the King's favor. She'd encouraged her younger son to get the King's ear, regale him with tales of his accomplishments. Thorfinn was, of course, no good at such things, but Lady Rowle seemed to make it up for the both of them. She'd spent the evening boasting about her son's attributes, to Thorfinn's chagrin. Of course, when King Riddle presented with his mission, Thorfinn's mother was only too pleased at the opportunity.

With so many senior Court members tied up with various things, it presented Thorfinn with the chance to rise above the other lower-level lords. Truly, it was unprecedented how quickly those in their high-seated positions had so thoroughly fallen from favor. Rumor had it, Zabini and Nott were being subjected to torture to unlock their Obliviation. Their fathers were on thin ice with the King. There was never a time when so many of the King's innermost circle were indisposed in some way. If navigated carefully, this could indeed be Thorfinn's in, but he was not sure he wanted the elevation as much as his mother wanted it for them. The higher one rose, the further one fell. What was more, he saw the mission for what it was—destined to fail.

How Thorfinn and his team were supposed to locate an artefact no one knew anything about—a myth, as far as he was concerned—was beyond him. If he was being honest with himself, a luxury he rarely afforded what with all the skilled Legilimens around him, he would think the King was getting rather soft in the head. He hadn't dared question the King on his entail, of course, but in the privacy of his own home, he wondered how the King had come to entertain such a notion. His only explanation was _he knew_ the artefact was hidden there, a fact that didn't bring much comfort to Thorfinn. What, had the man dreamed it up? He was sure he didn't know, yet he was sent on a wild goose chase to find it.

"The fact that the Muggles were able to walk through this area tells us one thing," Thorfinn said, reaching for his wand and gripping it tightly. "The unknown magic that seems to render our Apparition ineffective is far more ancient than anyone here remembers. This was a land belonging to a lost race. A race that lived among magicfolk and Muggles alike."

The Russian and Barrons both nodded in agreement.

"So what is the solution, then?" Barrons arched a thick eyebrow questioningly.

"Simple charms seem to work well enough," Thorfinn said, calling on his magic and aiming it at a fraying bit of rope at the edge of the bridge. "We'll have to simply mend the bridge."

"That could take hours," the Russian complained.

"It's the only way," Thorfinn said. "Seeing as we seem to sail right by it when on the open water. The only way to bridge the city's wards is by land travel. Whoever built it must have wanted to see who was coming."

"We must prepare for the worst," Barrons said in a hushed tone. "Who knows what jinxes and curses will be waiting for us once we bridge the gap?"

For once, Thorfinn felt on the same page as his compatriot.

 **000**

Draco rested on the ground panting heavily, his mind trying desperately to work out what the bloody hell had just happened.

He'd felt Hermione's magic course through his puffed and likely infected wound like a cooling caress, soothing and healing the inflamed skin with an ease even his Healer may have been proud of. But that was the problem, wasn't it?

She had magic—and that made her his enemy—irrevocably so.

 _Fuck,_ he inwardly lamented. _She was better off as a bloody Muggle_. So many feelings assaulted Draco all at once, he was hard-pressed to make sense of them. Hurt and betrayal warred with shock and disbelief. The insufferable swot had so thoroughly befuddled him since the moment they'd arrived on this cursed island, and now it all made sense. He felt relieved in a way, which was odd when considering the rest of his tumultuous feelings that certainly did not resemble relief, but he was slightly relieved because he had been _right_. The whole time, he had thought there was something off about Hermione Granger. She had never once struck him as _normal_. He'd dismissed her as an anomaly, one of a bloody kind, but now he knew there were so many secrets the girl had been guarding.

 _A fucking witch, living secretly among my kind all these bloody years. How had she managed it? How had she not ousted herself sooner? Especially with her accidental magic as a child...for surely a witch as powerful as herself would have made quite a spectacle with her first display._ Draco remembered his first bout of uncontrollable magic, he'd taken out every window in the Manor. His parents had been so proud. What had Hermione, a witch so powerful in wielding wandless magic, done? How had she gone unnoticed? _I bet it was lonely for her...not quite a witch, but not quite a Muggle, either, living among them both…._

Draco shook himself roughly from his thoughts; he would _not_ feel pity for her. She was filth, so knee-deep in mud it was disgusting. _A fucking half-breed_. It would be better if she was one or the other, not caught somewhere in between. He had been right before, she truly was an anomaly, because half-breeds were not so powerful, it didn't make sense for them to be. But now Draco's eyes had been opened, and suddenly the weeks spent on the island began to replay in his mind and he began to see things in a new light.

What had been her first display of magic? Probably conjuring fire where he had tried and failed for the first two days. She'd launched into a hypocritical speech about how he shouldn't rule out everything Muggle, but she'd achieved that first feat by magical means, the lying little swot. Or maybe even before that, when she'd happened upon him stunned and floating to his death in the water. That raft had been too convenient and far too unrecognizable to be anything resembling a part of his ship. Had Hermione really used wandless Transfiguration to expand it? The only wizard he knew capable of such a spell was King Riddle himself.

 _A bloody anomaly_. But if the thought was supposed to comfort him, it only served to provoke him further.

There had been so much more she'd done on the island, things she'd been excellent at explaining away. _What do you mean, that vine was here, didn't you see it? Oh, these are already dry, perhaps it was the breeze? I don't know why these dresses are so large, perhaps they are made for giants? I found the rest of the twine for the staircase while you were napping, Draco. I swear, you do so love for me to do all the work. I found the shell like this, you don't expect Firecrabs to be immortal, do you?_ Draco swore aloud. She had taken him for a fool. She thought she could go on as she had in England, living right under everyone's nose like a sodding cockroach, but she'd probably never been in such close proximity to a real witch or wizard. She couldn't keep up the charade forever. Especially not in front of him; he was bound to find out.

What was even worse, what hurt him far more than all of it put together, was that she had bewitched him.

Bloody hell, how she'd captured his interest. Damned seductress that she was. Probably had it all planned out, too. Or maybe she didn't, fuck if he knew anymore. Maybe it was all an accident and she really didn't know how her little quirks and oddities affected him.

That sly half-smirk she was so often found giving him. She'd looked like a real witch, cooking their nightly meals over the steaming Firecrab shell. The way she delicately arched her eyebrow at the end of an argument, not deigning to speak on the subject any longer, but that action in itself spoke volumes. The way she thirsted for knowledge, asked dozens of questions about nearly everything. How she would harp on a subject and then overanalyze it to pieces. He'd come to refer to it as "the-Hermione-way" in his mind. She wouldn't let up until she discovered all she could, or until she succeeded in whatever endeavor she was attempting. It was, he thought begrudgingly, as admirable as it was irritating. She was so inconsistent, a glitch in the system. A bloody impossibility. Someone like her should not exist, yet here she bloody was.

And she'd stunned him.

And he was still lying on the ground a good fifteen minutes later trying to sort it all out.

With as much of an effort as he could muster, he hauled himself from the humiliating position on his back and stood on shaky feet. He needed to clear his head. Dimly aware of his surroundings, he walked to the beach. When he arrived, he divested himself of his shirt and walked towards the gentle surf, relishing in the feeling of the sand beneath his toes. Waist deep in the water, he dove in and started swimming furiously for the horizon. The water cooled his throbbing skin and awakened his senses.

He kept swimming, glad to have some exercise to occupy his mind with. For once, Draco found himself completely at a loss for what to do. If he were back in Britain, there would be no question what the right course of action would be. He would have to summon the Dementors to escort her to Azkaban. But what was he supposed to do here, in this case? Draco couldn't fathom what the appropriate action was. She had been his companion, his partner in this unlikely situation they both found themselves in. They'd built a friendship, tentative though it was, and had started to trust each other. Now he was unsure how he was supposed to act towards her. _No wonder she doesn't want us to be found._

Wrapping up his swim, he swam to the far side of the beach before the next cliff rounded, until his feet touched the sandy ground once more. He walked back towards the camp, resolved to do the only thing that made much sense at the moment.

When he reached the camp, he was surprised to see Hermione reclining on a bamboo chair he'd never seen before at the camp. Palms were fashioned above her like an umbrella of sorts, fixed to the ground. They were waving on their own accord, providing a light breeze to the relaxed witch who was sipping what appeared to be mango juice from a shell.

"Look at you, sitting there bold as brass. Using magic as if you were allowed to," Draco said through clenched teeth.

Hermione set her conch shell down, making a show of looking around. "I don't see anyone around to stop me, do you?"

He walked towards the barrel under the stairs. "Taunting me now, are you?"

"What would you rather I do, oh benevolent master of mine? Fall to my knees and beg you to spare me? Plead that I'm not sentenced to the Kiss? Perhaps I can have a nice, simple life in Azkaban and live out the rest of my long, torturous days away from you in peace. Is that what you're hoping for?"

A muscle clenched by his eye. Truthfully, he couldn't say that was _exactly_ what he was hoping for. Reaching the stairway and the stored spirits, he tried to lift the lid of the barrel, but it was stuck. "What'd you do to the rum?" he growled.

"I guess you'll just have to ask nicely," she said, shrugging carelessly.

"Unfuckingbelievable."

He kicked the barrel, and in six long strides, was right in front of the insufferable girl, or rather, witch.

Her eyes fluttered open. "Yes?" she asked expectantly.

"Do you like toying with me, Mudblood?"

"Not exactly, but it seems prudent to set some ground rules between us."

He crouched low, getting on her level, and she shifted her body to face him, blatantly accepting the challenge. That damned half smirk was plastered on her face again and it set his blood to boiling. She was quite sure of herself, wasn't she? Pompous, even. Sitting there as imperious as a queen, meaning to dictate her expectations to him. As if she expected him to simply roll over and take her demands. _Fat chance of that happening._

 **000**

"Look here, princess—"

"Yes." Hermione latched onto the word. "That's much better, Malfoy. Why don't you call me that?"

His eyes darkened and he set his jaw tightly. "I was going to say princess of mud. Very fitting, seeing as you're as common as dirt."

She shook her head dismissively, eyes flashing with the promise of retribution. "No, Malfoy. See, you should have stopped at princess. Do I need to teach the _inbred Pureblood_ manners? Because I should inform you, I'd quite relish the opportunity."

"I'm _not_ a fucking _inbred_."

"That's unlikely. You see, somewhere, somehow down the line, you're bound to have crossed paths with one of the so-called Sacred families-"

"Hermione," he hissed.

"Hermione?" Her smile was sickly sweet. "Tiring of Mudblood already?"

"You seem to be under the impression you can toy with me, that I'll tolerate it."

"But, Malfoy," she said, voice laced with patience. "We both know your wandless magic is shite." He flinched and Hermione wasn't sure if it was from her insult to his magic or the crass word she'd uttered. "Do you want to duel me, is that it? Shall I show you once and for all what I think of others imposing their will on me? You think you're so superior, what with being not only a wizard and a Pureblood, but a man at that? You think you can keep women chained and submissive, serving you demurely, from under their eyelashes?" She leaned forward, her eyes glittering dangerously. "But this woman, this witch, does not wish to be chained. I'm free and I'm staying that way. I quite like it, and I won't allow it to ever be taken from me again."

"I don't know where you get your silly notions from—"

"My opinions are not silly, and it's no secret from where you get your archaic ones."

"I have every right to be angry with you, don't act like you're the victim here. You deceived me."

She guffawed loudly. "Of course I did, what other option was there?" Her eyebrows rose in amusement. " _Oh, by the way, dear Captain, you should know I'm an illegal witch who's been living in secret all my life. I hope you don't mind too terribly_." She stared pointedly into his startling gray eyes. "You, sir, are as closed-minded as they come."

"And you are as volatile as a wild kelpie."

"Hmph."

"Not to mention, likely the reason my ship was attacked." Malfoy sat back on the ground and she felt like she could breath easier without him being inches away from her. His face grew contemplative. "It was you Potter was after. I heard reports before leaving that ships were being attacked. We didn't know the reason, but it's clear he was seeking Mudbloods."

"Why would he want me?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"How the bloody hell should I know? Probably to bolster that ragtag group he calls an army, if I had any guess. Quite resourceful, actually. I salute the fellow." She narrowed her eyes at his obvious sarcasm. "Now won't you please lift your barrel wards, oh kind-hearted-princess-of-the-Caribbean, and allow me to drink to your would-be-savior?"

Rolling her eyes, she flicked her wrist, casting the spell in her mind. He got up with all the dignity he could muster, straightening his loose-hanging shirt.

"You should have let him have me, then," she called over her shoulder. "Saved us both a lot of trouble."

"No kidding."

When he came back, they drank in silence. The late afternoon giving way to early evening.

He was the first to speak. "I knew there was something more to you than just being a mere Muggle."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." She shot him a look that could only be described as derisive, and lifted her shell in the air. He raised his and they both took another drink. "I honestly don't know where your hatred for Mudbloods comes from, Malfoy. It's not like anyone chooses to be born the way they are."

"The magic you have is magic you _bloody-well stole_."

She tossed her hands in exasperation. "When did I do this? In the womb, or perhaps as a squalling infant? Perhaps wizards deserve to get their magic taken from them if a mere Muggle infant can rob them so."

"It doesn't matter. You took the magic from ancient Pureblood lines." He narrowed his eyes in blatant disapproval. "And you've clearly taken more than your share."

"I didn't make a conscious decision to take _anything_ , Malfoy," she deadpanned. "And I think your theory is shite. Something we are told since birth to make us believe a certain way, but I wager there's no truth to it."

"That's quite a revolutionary thought," he admitted, and for the first time, she noticed his lips quirk slightly. "But you are full of those, aren't you? Regrettably for you, you happen to be quite wrong."

"Am I really? And you know this how, exactly?"

Draco sighed. "It's a proven fact." He shot her a look filled with pity, as if he thought her weaker intellectually, which of course only served to infuriate her all the more.

"A proven fact?" Her eyes burned hot and defiant. "Or rather, just drivel the royals have fed you over many years to ensure unwavering loyalty from the Purebloods, whilst reassuring them that they're the superior species? It's quite clearly a thinly veiled control mechanism those in power have been known to employ for years. If you convince a select few they are better, you effectively oppress those who may disagree with you and in so doing, control the masses."

Her chest rose and fell quickly and her breathing hastened. He peered at her as if seeing her for the first time. She wondered vaguely if she'd shocked him into silence.

"Honestly, do you even think the King believes it? Not bloody likely. I'm sure he knows full well what he's doing. And the Magical community, with their Muggle slaves and their superiority complex, is far too gullible and too uncaring to notice."

"You're quite the visionary aren't you?" For a moment, she thought she saw a glimmer of admiration pass over his features, but upon further inspection, his face was unreadable. Not even his trademark smirk was visible. "To say nothing of how treasonous everything you just spewed was."

She exhaled a shaky breath. "Look, Malfoy. I'm not trying to be difficult. I'm just trying to present a view you may not have heard before."

"You certainly accomplished that."

She got up from her comfortable seat and walked to the treehouse, stopping when she reached the stairs. She turned to face him. "I know tensions are high between us, but perhaps you can think on what I said tonight. If you feel you can treat me with dignity and respect, then we can still work together. Otherwise, I'm sure this island is big enough for the two of us."

He remained silent, his face an inscrutable mask. Hermione met his dark stare, determined to show fearlessness, despite the turmoil churning inside of her.

He inclined his head slightly, and she turned around without a backwards glance.

She warded the door shut that night, for good measure. She didn't trust the blond wizard as far as she could throw him and he certainly would not be sleeping anywhere near her in the conceivable future.

 **000**

 _Drip, drop._

 _Drip, drop._

Tiny cracks in the ceiling and side of the cave let in sunlight, indicating it was still daylight, and illuminating the bluish purple interior of the cave as well as her ruby-eyed friend, Jack.

Her only friend in this cursed place.

Waves from the ocean inlet lapped against her bound feet like they always did. Always lapping. Always cold. The sun set and the moon rose, then the cycle would commence all over again. And she was there—always present for it. Eternally hungry, but deprived of sustenance. Eternally thirsting, but void of anything to quench her thirst. The desire for her soulmate warred with her insatiable bloodlust, but still she existed.

"It's just you and I, isn't it, Jack?" Her voice came out in a croak she could barely recognize as her own, the sound grating against her ears. She let out a mad cackle that echoed loudly across the cave.

Jack, like always, remained grinning.

"Never have anything to say, do you?" She pouted, setting her lip in a petulant line. "Always content to lie among your treasure, mocking me. You think they've bested me, but you're dead wrong, is what you are. You'll see. I'll show them all, but you I'll show first." She erupted in a fit of coughs, her throat dry and burning.

Raw fury shot through her. How she longed to lash out with her magic. She knew it was just as eager as her to flex its powerful force. If she could only break the ancient binds that caged her, snap the suppressing magic that suffocated her, she could be free of this pitiful state of existence.

She glanced over to her right, where a pebble had fallen on the rock shelf of the cave. It had been the event of the month. She'd spent hours trying to move the bloody thing with her mind. She'd called upon her magic from deep inside, where she knew it lay buried in that primitive place, beyond a mere wizard's reach. She called on it, but it didn't come to her. Her magic was effectively cut off so long as she was warded in the cave and tied with the eternal Fae bindings.

But there was a way—she _knew_ there was. If it were impossible, then how had… _never mind_. She would _not_ entertain that line of thought.

She struggled against her binds, but they did not yield. She let out a hopeless cry, the isolation so overwhelmingly suffocating, she wanted for nothing more but to die and start all over. She had been careless. Next time, she would not be. She would bloody well get a next time—she always did.

But now, she was bored and so dreadfully alone. There was nothing but her mad thoughts to entertain her. She'd swirled so deep into madness, she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to climb out of it again.

 _Revenge_ , she reminded herself. _You must go on for revenge._ _Yes, cold and calculating and so bloody fulfilling. Kill them all. Long, slow, torturous deaths._

The thought brought a ripple of sweet joy through the bound witch.

 _Thomas will save me from this boredom. We will hunt down those who did this to me and descend our wrath upon them in a fiery green rage. You'll see, Jack. You grin that toothy grin at me now. Mocking me. Always mocking me. But you'll see who has the last laugh._

The skeleton head lying among the golden galleons with one hollow socket, and one gem-clad eye, stared up at her unseeingly.

"You'll see," she insisted, voice raspy. "They'll all see."

 _Drip, drop._

 _Drip, drop._

Bellatrix Lestrange glanced over at the stalagmite and wondered idly if it had grown since she'd first been trapped here. Perhaps if she was lucky, it would grow tall enough to impale the cave ceiling and bring the whole bloody place down on her.

 **000**


	8. Chapter 8: Pink Tourmaline

**A/N: Hey guys! Omgosh-I'm super ecstatic to share with you all that this story has been nominated in the Dramione FanFiction Awards for best AU! Thanks to those that nominated it and are voting. If you'd like to check out all the awesome stories that are nominated for this round and vote for your favorites, I've shared the link on my Tumblr. Also, you can find it on Dramione FanFiction Forum's Tumblr. Thanks so much for your continued interest with this story. I hope you like the latest update. I made a pretty which you can see on Tumblr or photobucket C: Let me know what you think? Happy reading!**

 **Beta Love to: RooOJoy**

 **Inspiration: Secret Wedding from the Braveheart soundtrack**

 **Thanks for the follows/favorites/reviews: Lindsey, chibi-Clar, LastBornSlytherin, Mistress DragonFlame, mega700201, EStrunk, riddlesgurl86, sleeplygirl, Green Eyed Lana Lee, HenriaSownbinder, Nellaus, Beckster384, Becky, daswhoiam, JiSeongi, sunshinealeia, romancenerd7878, LeanaM, pgoodrichboggs, uniqu3s0u7, DarqueDeath4444, Diokomen, LK-HoGwArTs-hEaDgIrL, SlytherinPrincessNurse1994, AnnaOxford, and the guests!**

* * *

 **000**

"This isn't the one," Olive cried in outrage, angrily turning to face her cowardly slave. "Muggles these days." She threw down the gown and glanced over to Daphne and Astoria who shared pitied looks with her. "I swear to Merlin, it's impossible to find good help anymore."

Daphne nodded empathetically. "Incompetent, the lot of them."

"What happened to your last Muggle, Olive?"

A glimpse of the bushy-haired slave known as Hermione flashed through her head. The girl had been quite odd. Olive had never been able to put her finger on just what it was that didn't sit right with her about Hermione. Indeed, now that she was gone, Olive had to admit Hermione was perhaps the best slave she'd ever owned. The brunette Muggle had an uncanny ability to anticipate Olive's every whim, almost like magic. Olive had supposed it was a factor of owning her since they were both girls. Regardless of the reason, she rarely had to ask for things and Hermione was always prepared for whatever Olive needed. Yet the girl gave Olive the creeps. There was far more awareness in those muddy brown eyes than belonged in a Muggle. They certainly weren't dull like the rest of her family's Muggles. She'd whined about it to her father before, but he had shrugged off her concerns. As the years wore on, the feeling that the simple girl was more than simple only intensified and Olive insisted that she be gotten rid of.

"We sold her off to Australia," Olive said, shrugging. "Who knows where she is now? Probably some Pureblood brute's whore, if I had any guess."

The ladies giggled maliciously. Olive's new Muggle cowered even more so in the corner. Olive eyed the dirty blond-haired girl in a detached sort of way. The girl was younger than Olive and her friends, which she found she liked. Though frightened, the Muggle's eyes were most certainly dull, which she found she liked very much. There would be no more Muggles haunting her dreams with depthless brown eyes hiding hordes of secrets.

"You think that's bad," the other blond in the room, Astoria, said with eyes narrowed, "at least you two haven't had your betrothed flee from you."

"At least you have a betrothed," Olive bit back, irritation coursing through her not for the first time at the reminder that the younger witch's prospects were far better off than hers.

Daphne gave a loud guffaw. "She doesn't have a _betrothed_." She mimicked the last word cruelly. "Draco Malfoy has hardly agreed to marriage. The only one who's gotten remotely close to securing that agreement has since given up and pursued Nott."

"Pansy was merely a shag-buddy," Astoria said nastily.

"Lord Malfoy has had many of those." Olive wriggled her eyebrows suggestively. She and Daphne shared a laugh.

Astoria crossed her arms. "You're slags, the both of you. Just because you shared a year with him does not mean you have one up on me. Besides, slags are for shagging, _not marrying_."

"I don't know why it's of any concern to you, anyway," Olive said. "Not only was no formal agreement made, but our beloved Slytherin prince is likely lying on the bottom of the ocean right now, somewhere by the New World."

"Don't be crass," Daphne said. "Draco was our friend."

The girls ducked their heads in shame after Daphne's uncharacteristic reprimand. They sank down on the large Chesterfield sofa in Olive's drawing room.

Astoria was the first to break the silence. "I should inform you, however, you're quite mistaken about the formal arrangement. My parents, as well as his, have been in conversation for weeks about it. I was even to stay with the Malfoys this summer, upon Lord Malfoy's return."

"Cheer up, Astoria, darling," Olive cooed amid the younger witch's sniffling. "It's quite possible he survived the ordeal."

"Didn't you hear? Chancellor Malfoy has been provided leave to search for his son, you silly ninny." Daphne rolled her eyes, before gesturing for the Muggle girl to refill her wine. "I swear, Olive, your old Muggle never let our cups get low."

Olive pressed her lips in a thin line of displeasure. "Oh, lay off of it already. Hermione is gone and this Muggle will learn soon enough." Olive could not believe she was coming to her Muggle's aid. "I did hear that, too, Astoria. Perhaps Chancellor Malfoy will find his son?"

"I hope so." Astoria dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

"You're not the only one whose _intended_ is in danger. My Thorfinn has been sent on a dangerous mission of his own," Daphne pointed out. "The man may not even make it back for our wedding. I hear New World is quite the dangerous place. Filled with unknown creatures and rabid Muggles who have yet to learn their place in the world."

Olive put her hand over her chest, aghast. "Don't be morbid, Daphne. You're scaring us."

"Thorfinn will return," Astoria said in a whiny voice. "He will be declared a hero and elevated in status. Meanwhile, _if Malfoy is even found_ , he will forever be known as the weakling whom Potter defeated. He and his friends are ruined."

"Some understanding wife you would make," Daphne said, raising her brows. "He and his men were overpowered. Blaise and Theodore can attest to that."

"If they're ever let out of the King's dungeons," Astoria said.

"Why would they be in King Riddle's dungeons?"

"For losing, silly," Astoria said with a chuckle.

"They're just being healed. That's not how the King rewards heroes." Daphne stared down both witches.

"You're always so disagreeable," Astoria said, shaking her head at her sister. "I swear, ever since third year, when you lost your bloody best friend, Davis."

Daphne drew herself up quickly, her wand gripped harshly in her fingers before anyone knew what was what. Her magic crackled around her menacingly and her younger sister recoiled away at the blatant threat. "Astoria Belinda Greengrass. You know better than to bring _that up_ , you wretched girl!"

Olive got up, walking towards her friend, and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. "Relax, Daphne. No one blames you for being friends with that filthy Half-Blood in third year. None of us knew who she really was."

Daphne's chest rose and fell quickly. Astoria's eyes had widened in fright.

"Sorry, Sissy," she muttered.

"Everything is fine, girls," Olive said. She gestured to her Muggle to bring her what appeared to be an ornately decorated jewelry box. "I know the perfect thing to get you both out of this foul mood. I told you about my father's newly elevated position?" Daphne's jaw was still clenched angrily, but Olive was happy to see she had lowered her wand. "There are pros to being First Commander at Azkaban prison." Olive withdrew a delicate silver chain with a heavy rose-colored stone trinket that glowed when she touched it.

"You got your very own amulet?" Astoria cried, forgetting her fear. Jealousy swam in the girl's eyes.

"My father is First Commander," Olive said again, her stance turning haughty.

Daphne stepped closer, peering down at the valuable trinket. "What I don't understand is how these beautiful things are created at Azkaban, of all places."

"What's so difficult to understand?" Olive said, snatching the amulet away. "The prisoners work in the mines to cultivate the stones. Then they're placed on chains."

"So you're wearing something a Mudblood has touched?" Daphne said.

"You're just jealous you don't have one." Olive placed her treasured necklace back in its box.

" _I'm not either_. I'm just trying to understand how something so powerful, a stone that can breach most any ward, can be made with the labor of Mudbloods. I thought they were powerless?" Daphne glanced around at her present company, who looked hardpressed to come up with an answer.

Olive tried anyway. "Their labor is simply cultivating stones. It has nothing to do with power. Mudbloods _do not have power_ , and what little they do is siphoned, anyway."

"Siphoned?"

"Yes, siphoned. What do they need it for?"

"Siphoned into the stones? Why pink tourmaline would make one impervious to wards is beyond me, unless it's infused with power."

"Daphne," Olive hissed, her tone a warning. "You really shouldn't ask such questions. I was just trying to show you both something pretty, not discuss treasonous philosophy."

"Don't mind Daphne," Astoria said, seemingly recovered from her earlier scolding. "She's just sore about missing her betrothed, and she does so want an amulet of her own."

"Wrong as ever, Astoria," Daphne sighed, glancing out of the window to see a flock of herons flying over the lake. "Besides, Thorfinn has his own amulet." She looked back over to the shocked girls. "A gift from the King himself."

She smirked at their obvious envy.

 **000**

Blaise rested on the cold cobblestone floor, panting heavily, having just arrived back to his cell.

His vision swam and sounds reverberated through his head. Blurry images passed in a haze through his mangled mind. His thoughts were so discombobulated, he could scarcely make heads or tails of them.

"Is that you, mate?" came a voice in the darkness.

"Me?" His voice came out in a croak. "Who am I?"

The voice swore.

"Are you my conscious?" Blaise asked the darkness.

"What a right sore spot you'd be if I was," the voice said, sounding distinctly amused. "No, I'm not your bloody conscious. I'm your best friend. Others call me Theodore, or Nott, or the-most-shaggable-bloke-in-Wiltshire, but you always preferred Theo."

"Theo." Blaise tested the name on his tongue.

"That's right. We're just a bit out of sorts, mate."

Blaise turned to face the sound of where the voice was coming from, his wounded shoulder scraping against the rough stone. "Why?"

"We've been tortured for the past two weeks, by my count."

 _Torture._

Yes, that made sense. Quite a lot of it, actually. It would explain why Blaise's voice was rough from screaming. Why he felt boneless and ached all over. Why he felt as if his skin had been peeled from his body. Why just a minute ago he had thought he was floating in the midst of nothingness, but was abruptly and painfully brought back to reality by the mere reminder of Theo's words.

"Who would want to torture us? And why? What could we possibly know?"

"The King…for information."

The King. Just the mention of him brought fear clawing to the surface. Blaise could not fathom why. His thoughts were a tumultuous whirlwind of nonsense, but he was sure he'd never feared the King before. _He was their protector._

"But we don't know anything. What will torturing us accomplish?"

"We were Obliviated, mate. We know quite a lot, actually. Torturing unlocks our memories. Reverses the effects of the Obliviation."

"Seems like a long shot, if you ask me."

Theo's chuckle was so raspy, it caused Blaise to flinch, rather than share in his mirth. "Actually, it was rather effective."

"Oh?"

" _She was there._ This whole time I thought she was in Azkaban, rotting away. But she was there, more vibrant and full of life than any conjuring from my imagination."

Theo's words made no sense, and a small part of Blaise, perhaps the sanest part, wondered if the wizard had finally gone mental.

When he spoke again, minutes or even hours later for all Blaise knew, Theo's voice came out haunted. "She did it, you know. She cast the memory charm."

Blaise closed his eyes, or he thought he did. Really, there was no difference with his lids shut than with them open. Either way, none of the words from the man who claimed to be his friend made any sense to Blaise.

"So it worked, Theo?"

"Oh yes, it worked. I remember everything."

Blaise felt suddenly chilled. As if it were subconscious, he thought it was much better to _not_ remember whatever it was they were forced to forget.

"When you remember, which I suspect will be soon," Theo continued, "we must give them something. Details here and there. Tell the King how it is they're communicating aboard their ships. But Blaise," his voice took on an intense urgency, "remember what _they_ did to us. The King and his men. Don't ever sodding forget it. You better remember just who it was that showed us mercy. Blaise, don't forget."

Unexpectedly, Theo's rant prompted Blaise to ask out of nowhere. "Theo, what about Draco?"

His query was met with silence until Theo finally deigned to answer him. "Regrettably, I fear the worse for our comrade."

 **000**

Draco sat on the flat rock, uncomfortably wet, but hard-pressed to care so long as Hermione continued with her teachings. He surveyed the smooth waters of the pool with its unbelievable shades of blues and greens. She had instructed him to focus, and perhaps he could have, in these serene surroundings, if he didn't find it so inexplicably difficult to.

In the several days since the big reveal, he had come to the conclusion that the only way to live in peace on this island was to play by her rules…at least for now. Like it or not, she was the superior witch. It would be impossible to oppose her so long as he was incapable of wielding magic. The only time he'd been remotely successful was under her tutelage. So it was this line of thinking that prompted him to go to her the next day.

 _He kept his anger in check, determined to come off humble and sincere. He had to continuously remind himself that it would be worth it so long as he could learn to use his magic absent a wand, like she had so easily succeeded in doing. Brows knitted in determination, he waited for her as she descended the stairs that morning, breakfast already plucked from the trees and ready to eat._

 _She appraised him with wary eyes, but there was a familiar openness and honesty present in her honey-brown orbs. "Have you thought about what I told you?"_

 _His cool, gray eyes wandered over her, expressionless. "I did."_

 _"And," she prompted._

 _The words were reluctant to leave his mouth. "Perhaps…you have a point."_

 _"Is that all?" She narrowed her eyes in displeasure, crossing her arms over her chest._

 _"What do you want me to say, Hermione? People don't change overnight. If that's what you want me to give you, then I can leave this side of the island right now."_

 _Her eyes smoldered with heat and perhaps the promise of retribution._

 _"What I can promise you, though," he continued, taking a tentative step forward. "What I am willing to give…is a promise. A promise that I can try. Try to-"_

 _"Try to what?"_

 _"Try to be more open-minded," he finished lamely._

 _The heat of her gaze had lessened as she seemed to consider his words. Finally, she gave a brief nod. "I can work with that, Malfoy."_

It had been tense at first, and Draco was sorely disappointed to find that the comfortable friendship between them did not fall so easily back into place. But then, as always, Hermione had another of her ideas.

She had been playing with a wildflower by the cliff's edge, growing it large and then making it small again with her magic. Spending so much time day in and day out with her, he began to notice things, so of course he noticed immediately when an idea struck her.

 _"Say, Malfoy, I have a proposition for you…"_

 _The idea glowed so bright, it shone through her eyes and her smirk lifted._

 _"I'll teach you if you teach me…"_

With so many days of boredom and when her proposition benefited him as equally as it benefitted her, if not even more so, how could he say no?

That's how he found himself sitting cross-legged, in meditation, as she called it, finding it difficult to imagine how any of this was supposed to help him use his magic again.

"Malfoy," she said quietly, but he did not miss the scolding in her tone. "I can feel your aura from here. You'll never become one with the elements if you're so bloody tense all the time. You need to let go."

"I don't know how to let go." He struggled and failed to keep the rage from his voice.

"You need to focus." She spoke softly and he found himself straining to hear. "Close your eyes and use your other senses. Feel the breeze ruffle through your hair. Or inhale the scent of the fresh, salty ocean mingled with white plumerias. Listen to the sound of the waterfall hitting the pool. Focus on that instead of just what you can see."

Listening to Hermione nearly had the desired effect, if he wasn't so baffled on how she could be such a bloody expert on something so complicated as wandless magic.

"How is it that you know so much?"

He was surprised to see a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth. "Jealous, Malfoy, that I know more than you?"

"Hardly," he scoffed. "More like irritated. This isn't the place I would choose to meditate. A wet rock in the middle of a pool? How am I supposed to concentrate when water keeps lapping at me?"

The witch beside him turned her full attention on him. "Is the big-bad-Pureblood afraid of a little water?" she said teasingly. "So if I were to do this-" She dipped her hand in the water's edge and splashed him right in the face. He put his hands up to shield himself.

"Ever the know-it-all swot," he snarled.

She laughed freely. "I'm teaching you a lesson, Malfoy; the water is your friend. You can derive a lot of energy from this element in particular. It's one of the easiest to do so with, earth being the second easiest. That's why I brought us here."

"And I suppose fire and air are third and fourth?"

"Fire is challenging to control. Air is…" her voice trailed off and her gaze wandered to the horizon.

Draco waited patiently for her to respond but she seemed in some kind of stupor. "Hermione," he said gently. "Hermione, are you there?"

She blinked, then looked up at him with wide eyes. When she spoke, her voice took on a husky tone. "Air is nearly impossible to derive energy from."

"Have you mastered it?"

Her eyebrows drew together and she looked pensive for a moment. "There is one thing." She lifted a finger in air and began twirling it. Soon, a small whirlwind formed and spun around them playfully.

"That's cute," he admitted. "But I'm not sure what good it does anyone."

"Nothing, I suppose. But it's all I know how to do with the air."

"What's the incantation?"

She shrugged. "There isn't one."

"How can there be a spell with no incantation?" He frowned.

"Most of my spells don't have incantations. That's why you're helping me, Malfoy. I can _will_ certain things to happen, and cast simple spells like the fire-making spell. I can do a summoning charm with incantations, but otherwise I'm very limited. Especially when it comes to dueling."

Malfoy averted his eyes, finding the waterfall suddenly interesting. He knew he would have to be very careful which spells he taught Hermione. He could very well turn her into quite the lethal little Mudblood if he were too free with his teachings. He would give her as much as she expected, but keep the darker knowledge from her. She had enough one-ups on him as it was.

"I'm not giving you another hex or single jinx until we make some headway with me."

Hermione sighed. "Fine. Then lie down."

"What?" he said, alarm cracking through his impassive facade.

"You heard me. Lie down and let me see exactly what's wrong."

"How will you accomplish _that_ by me doing _that_?"

But she was already pushing on his chest so he laid his head as softly as he could on the hard stone. "We need to figure out what's getting in the way of you focusing—other than your mouth, of course."

Draco was driven by the sudden impulse to push her away and to call this ill-advised deal off. He'd take the boring island days over having to deal with Hermione fussing over him as if he were a difficult Arithmancy problem.

She hovered her hands over his chest, inciting his concern further still. "What are you doing?" he tried again, as if addressing a lone kelpie.

"I'm just pushing a little of my magic into you to get a feel for what's going on."

"A diagnostic spell? That's not how you do it."

She lifted her hands away and peered down at him angrily. "So now I'm doing magic wrong? Says the wizard who's not been able to perform more than three spells since we've arrived. Why don't you just hush for once?"

Not waiting to see if he obeyed, she raised her hands again, and this time Draco felt the force of her energy as it reverberated from her outstretched hands down to his body. A wispy white light shot out from her hands, pouring into him. The fear was soon replaced by calm as Draco felt the effects of her inquisitive magic course through him. It enveloped him like a caress, stirring his own. He felt his magic stretch and flex as if awakening from a deep slumber. Hermione's magic prodded his playfully whilst running from one area to the next.

"I see the problem." Her voice sounded far away. "You're blocked here," she touched his forehead and just the mere brush of her fingertips felt soothing. "And here at the crown of your head. And…" she hesitated for a moment before her fingertips trailed down his chest, not quite touching him until they reached just below his navel. "And here."

Heat plummeted south and his body became instantly aware of the witch sitting over him. He swallowed down a gasp. "How can you be sure?"

"Your third eye chakra," she explained. "Right here on your forehead between your eyes. It controls your ability to focus as well as your intuition and imagination. Then," she touched his head, "there's your crown chakra on the top of your head. It's arguably the highest chakra, connecting you to the utmost spiritual bliss. Your other block is your sacral chakra. It controls your ability to connect and accept new experiences." She placed a contemplative finger on her chin. "I recommend you unblock them all."

"Where'd you learn that?" He wasn't sure if he was able to keep the suspicion from his tone.

"At one point, Olive had the idea she would go into Healing after Hogwarts. I read it in one of the Holistic books she brought home."

"And you know how to do this?"

"Hypothetically." She crouched over him, smirking mischievously. "Just a gentle push, I should say."

He looked up at her warily. Was that all that stood in his way of truly mastering wandless magic? What did he stand to lose by letting Hermione _unblock him_ , as she called it? Reluctantly, he gave her a stiff nod.

She smiled widely. "Alright, Malfoy. Just…try and relax."

 _Like that's bloody likely._

She lifted her hands once again, and he watched as her eyes fluttered shut. This time, the light that erupted from her fingertips was distinctly blue. The magic was much more assertive and insistent when it coursed through him the second time. His eyes also screwed shut, but the light of her magic was blinding as it assaulted his senses.

It shot through him, energized and invigorated. It was impossible to ignore the force of its power, especially when coupled with the feel of her fingertips as she tilted his chin lightly, placing a hand solidly over the crown of his head. Though his eyes were tightly shut, his vision swam, but his thoughts had cleared, and he was able to zero in on the feel of the magic running through her fingers and into his mind.

There was resistance, but this didn't seem to deter the witch in the slightest, she merely pushed harder and it was as if she'd wrenched open a heavily barricaded door. It felt instantly freeing, as if some veil had been lifted to reveal a world beyond the fog for the first time. It was mildly overwhelming, and he felt as if he may be approaching sensory overload with all the clear and concise detail he was seeing.

Next, she trailed her hands lower, stopping at his temples and massaging them. He bit back a groan, fighting the inclination to move his newly awakened body. She pressed a finger into his forehead and he was immediately stricken with a kaleidoscope of colors. He watched them pass over his mind's eye dazedly, not even aware when the block of this chakra was breached, so entranced by the vibrancy of what he was seeing.

He could feel her magic draw down his body, as if following the line of her gaze alone. "Two inches under the navel and two inches in," she explained. She summoned her magic and he felt it culminate in the pit of his abdomen.

He could sense now, perhaps thanks to his newly cleared brow chakra, that he was indeed blocked. He wondered briefly how he had ended up this way, suspecting it was years of putting up guards and unhealthy coping mechanisms.

She drew her fingers lightly around his navel before stopping just a bit under, and pressing two fingers into the tender skin. He was unprepared for the effect freeing this chakra would have on him. A ripple of pure bliss shot through him, the likes of which he'd never experienced. His eyes shot open, and he thought he may just go blind from the vision that was Hermione.

She appeared to be a goddess, knelt over his supine body. A light breeze wafted across the pool, sending her curls flying in a wild disarray around her shoulders. One hand pressed into his abdomen while the other held tightly over her wrist. Her jaw was clenched in determination, lips pressed into a serious line. But what really floored him were her eyes. Gone were the familiar brown orbs he'd come to recognize from afar, to be replaced by otherworldly eyes that glowed the strange cerulean blue color of her magic.

Draco was astounded by it.

She was a vision.

And her face was strained with a tremendous effort. He furrowed his brows in confusion. He didn't wish for this ethereal creature to meet with difficulty in any aspect of her life. In a moment of clarity, he realized he was the reason for her hardship. She was trying to help him. He needed to help her help him. With single-minded focus, he concentrated on the energy flowing through him, down to the very spot where it met with resistance, and he willed his guard down.

The effect was instantaneous.

The block was breached and the magic flowed freely and unhindered.

She began pulling back her odd magic, her eyes slightly dimming, but Draco was still in a sensual haze, his body alive and on fire.

She was drawing away from him, a small smile on her face, when he sat up quickly, ignoring the pounding of his head, or the way the sky, much darker, seemed to spin around him. He took her hand in his and pulled her down on top of him, catching her lips in a searing kiss.

 **000**

Hermione wasn't quite sure what was happening, still in the delightful after-haze of the strongest magical high she'd ever experienced, but she was quite aware of the pliant lips pulling on her own.

Arms encircled her waist, pulling her tightly to the warm body beneath her. Her soft curves had no choice but to meld themselves over heated muscles and hard ridges. The hands wandering over her back sent the most decadent tingling sensations jolting through her.

Her weight on top of his had to be burdening him but he seemed to gladly accept it, relish it even. His lips moved against hers urgently. A small, very quiet part of her knew this was dangerous, but, bloody Morgana, did it feel right. She felt oddly drugged and vaguely marveled at the way a simple act of unblocking chakras could result in this. She certainly could never have anticipated it—not in her wildest dreams.

She deliberately allowed her fingers to trail through luxuriously soft blond tresses, relishing in the way he cupped her face, almost tenderly. She gladly took what he was offering, almost in a greedy sort of way. The tension from the weeks spent on the island surfaced and spilled, like lava from a volcano.

She was helpless to fight the desperate ache that demanded more. Their kiss had started soft and innocent, a gentle tugging here, and nibbling there, but it quickly intensified when he impulsively licked her lips with deliberate possession. Dizziness surged as a stab of desire shot low in her belly.

Her head whirled with white hot need as she broke away, eyes open and glittering, a torrent of emotions passing over her face. The hot metal gaze that clashed with hers smoldered with an intensity that mirrored her own, and this time when she kissed him back, she opened her mouth, darting her tongue out to taste his lips in a gesture quite uncharacteristic for her.

With a desperate growl, he deepened the kiss. His mouth slanted over hers aggressively, causing her to forget to breathe. Panting, she marveled at the way their kiss had flamed so quickly, as if a match had been set to a tinder. She was returning his kiss with equal fervor, very near to losing her tenuous grip of control. They were merely touching each other over their clothes and she was already seconds from having her inhibitions incinerated.

She enjoyed the way he threaded his fingers through her wild curls, gently scraping her scalp wi his fingernails. His other hand caressed her side, eliciting a hiss when he skimmed the side of her cloth-covered breast in passing, effectively snapping her restraint.

She may have lost her maidenhood on that very rock, to her enemy of sorts, if ice cold reality hadn't chosen that moment to descend down on them.

Cold, crisp water fell in a thick sheet over her heated skin, shocking her back to her senses. She sat up quickly, her chest rising and falling in short pants. Malfoy sat up gingerly, seemingly as stunned as she was.

"Did you have to summon a tidal wave?" he croaked. "You certainly don't do things by half measures."

Hermione glanced out over the pool, now painstakingly aware of the evening air that caused goosebumps to rise on her exposed flesh. She flashed him a sardonic grin, taking notice of how uncomfortable he looked. "That wasn't me, Malfoy."

He scoffed. "Sure it was, who else could it have-" He looked up quickly, the meaning of her words resonating with him. His eyes widened measurably and she noticed a spectrum of emotion, from surprise all the way to fledging excitement, pass over his features.

"It appears you're the one who doesn't do things by half measures." Straightening to her full height with as much dignity as she could muster, she dove off of the rock and swam towards the shore. The cool swim was exactly what she needed.

 **000**


	9. Chapter 9: The Pool Party

**A/N:**  
 **Not really sure what happened here in this chapter-it's madness. Not to mention it took _way too long f_ or me to update. Damn, and I was doing so good for like a month! I wanna get back to weekly updates because those are fun. In fairness, this is a super long chapter, so hopefully that makes up for my lateness. Also, there's some pretties you can find in the usual places-photobucket, AO3, or FB-all of which are listed on my profile. Oh, and there is an additional warning: smutty goodness abounds-read at your own risk!**

 **Beta Love to the wonderful and brilliant Carrington Shaw and RooOJoy!**

 **Inspiration: Skyrim Elder Scrolls, From Past to Present**

 **Shout out to Beyond the Book FanFiction Nook-you guys are the bee's knees!**

 **Please let me know what you think? Thanks for the interest on this story and to the reviewers: Scaleybark, Mistress DragonFlame, I was BOTWP, uniqu3s0u7, pgoodrichboggs, EStrunk, LastBornSlytherin, daswhoiam, chibi-Clar, romancenerd7878, dragonlovermudblood, Green Eyed Lana Lee, .3597, mega700201, Meiri, Rcaseyseale, sleeplygirl, LeanaM, AnnaOxford, Betth, SlytherinPrincessNurse1994, sunshinealeia, BabyBHawk2013, and the guests!**

* * *

 **000**

Thorfinn stared at the symbol etched in the ledge of the anteroom chamber: a giant tree in the midst of what looked to be jagged lines reminiscent of water. This would be the third ward he'd come into contact with since venturing into the cursed pyramid—a move that proved fatal to all in his group save him. He now could recognize it for what it was, but wasn't quite sure how it would choose to manifest itself as the other tricks and jinxes had.

His heart raced.

It hadn't stopped racing since he'd reached this forsaken place.

He'd been right to feel nothing but trepidation upon accepting this doomed mission—his instincts never failed him. There was a reason the place had been forgotten with half of the jungle growing over and through it—it was a _sodding death trap_.

Thorfinn possessed just enough Runic knowledge to decipher the crude writings on the previous etchings, and what he didn't know, he was sure his locket saved him from the brunt of it. The amulet was alive and thrummed with magic even as it rested against his chest. He ran an errant finger over the mint green quartz stone. He needed Zabini. Or, bloody hell, he hated to even suggest it in his head, but he needed his intended. Lady Greengrass knew much more about the inner workings of ancient texts than he. He'd only barely managed to scrape by with his life, and he wasn't even sure if what the King sought would be in the next room, or if there were ten more rooms to go. The sodding pyramid made him feel disorientated.

The deaths of all of his crew weighed heavily on him.

He felt responsible, as their leader, but he had no way of knowing what he was getting into. Whatever was housed in the heart of the pyramid, the powerful sorcerer did not wish for anyone to get to it. Unless, perhaps, they knew how.

For now, Thorfinn did know how to breach the chambers. He knew a freezing charm was required for the first room, or you would blow up in flames like Barrons and the rest of the Muggles who hadn't possessed the ingenuity to flee the first chance they had. Thorfinn had been immune to the havoc-wreaking skin boils, thanks to the amulet. The Russian had managed to throw up a hastily formed shield, as did several other men, but they were still burned badly, which was partially the reason for their quick fallout in the second chamber.

The second chamber had been trickier. They paid attention to the ledge before crossing under it that time around. They debated on whether or not the inscription represented a drowning man. Finally, the remaining four men agreed and decided the solution would be a bubble charm. Where Thorfinn's charm had been strong and fortified during the flooding of the chamber, the other charms fissured and cracked before dissipating completely. Thorfinn tried to pull one man, then the next to safety, but the tunnel that appeared was small in width and long in length. The remaining men drowned, and he failed to save them.

Now he stood, facing the third, ominous room. He was at a loss for what this threat could mean or what type of defense he should conjure. Additionally, he did not think it wise to proceed into the unknown when he was the sole survivor of his team.

Indeed, there was only one thought prevalent on his brain— _fuck this_.

If King Riddle desired this hidden treasure so badly, he could leave his bloody throne and come get it himself. Wasn't he a notoriously strong wizard? Surely the man could run circles around Thorfinn and his ragtag crew—his late, very dead, crew.

 _Fucking aristocrats. They don't lift a bloody finger_. The issue was, as curious as Thorfinn was to what treasured artefact actually lay hidden in the depths of this, for all intents and purposes, _tomb_ , he wasn't curious enough to breach the next entry and find out for himself. _Circe's tit,_ he didn't want it _that_ badly.

Mind made up, he turned his back on the chamber with its odd symbols and mysterious meanings. He wouldn't die for someone else's dream, like everyone else on the fated mission had. _And,_ his mind nagged at him, _when you get back to Britain and face the King, then what? Will you explain how you tucked tail and ran? Fuck._

That did present a problem.

As badly as he wanted to return home, return to his mother, and his intended, whom he had barely begun to get to know, how was he supposed to show face at Court? He continued walking, his feet refusing to stop, even for the bodies that lay strewn about on the floor.

 _I'll just have to have a good reason to have abandoned the mission, and what better than that everyone on the cursed thing died but me? I need more men, I need more resources, I need specialists. If I return to the King with a plan, he can't be angry, especially when I'm the only one who's made it as far as I have._

Comforted with this, he turned around to face the foreboding place he'd just exited. The pyramid was oddly intact, not ruined by age or decay as he would have guessed. It was certainly magically fortified. The only thing proclaiming its ancientness were the large trees and roots that had sprung up and around it. Vines covered the expanse of an entire wall. The smell of wood rotting permeated through the air.

Thorfinn waved his wand in a complicated pattern, performing a spectral-capture charm. He would show the image to the King once he returned home, and prove he had indeed been there. If he returned, he would insist every member of his new team be outfitted with the rare amulets. That would be his condition, or he would refuse. A life in Azkaban was likely a sight better than whatever doom awaited him inside the pyramid.

 **000**

Tracey awoke with a start, gasping as she sat up in bed, her chest rising and falling in short, shallow pants.

Never one to be a light sleeper, Harry bolted up immediately, the bamboo sheets pooling around his naked waist. He glanced at Tracey, assessing her. She seemed to be alright, though her hand was clutching her chest and she was fighting for her breath. He saw no blood or injury.

His fingers flew to her shoulders, spinning her to face him. Her face was ducked and her eyes were hidden behind long lashes. "What happened, Tracey?" He reached for her chin tentatively, and tilted it back. His breath hitched when he saw the eerie glow of her eyes. Her normally hazel orbs had an almost inhumane white radiance to them. "Did you have another vision?"

Tracey's eyes fluttered shut and she let her head full back, anchoring herself with a hand on each side of the paillasse. She nodded stiffly.

"What did you see?" he asked, running his hands up and down her gooseflesh-ridden arms.

"It was…" she stammered, swallowing thickly, "the same one I've been having." She opened her eyes and sought his intense green ones out urgently. "It makes me feel so funny inside…so many emotions…it doesn't make any sense."

"Just start at the beginning," he suggested.

"It was the tree again."

"The one with the star-shaped leaves?"

"Yes," she reached her hands out to grasp his, "but it's important. Meaningful in some way, though I can't quite place how." Her brows furrowed. "The leaves, they're the brightest green, _Merlin_ but they almost sparkle, and they smell so sweet. One fell on my shoulder."

"What were you wearing?"

"I was dressed in white. My shoulders were bare, or one shoulder was, anyway, if that makes sense?" She frowned up at him, confusion evident in her dainty features, but the otherworldly radiance had left her eyes.

"Togas, maybe?" He lifted his eyebrows expectantly.

"Yes!" She shot up from her sitting position and began pacing around their small river cottage. "Togas. That's what I was wearing. It's what everyone was wearing, in fact."

"Everyone?" he said sharply.

She turned to face the open window. "That's right. There were others sitting under the tree, too. Merlin, but it was beautiful. The sound of the water trickling in the nearby…stream…lake, maybe? We were all sitting there, talking."

"The same people you saw before?"

She spun around. "No, Harry. They were _not_ the same. There were some familiar, and some not. Some from New Godric's, the one's I've mentioned before like you, Ginevra, and Ron. But then there were some from back at home, which I found quite odd. Daphne, Zabini, that big brute who was several years ahead of us, and," she hesitated, "Nott."

Harry clenched his jaw. "That's a lot of people, and an odd group to be sorted with."

"That wasn't everyone. Harry, _Malfoy_ was there!"

"Were we about to murder each other?"

"No, it's like I was saying, silly. We were just talking, everyone was talking, like philosophers discussing the common theory of the time or something. I mean, I'm pretty sure that's who they all were. Though we did look a bit different. Subtle things here and there." She traced the lines of her face. "The shape of our eyes, noses, cheekbones, but for the most part, it was the same. The thing was… _there were others_."

"Merlin, who else?"

"I don't know. I couldn't recognize them. Maybe they were just too different?" She shrugged helplessly. "Though there was one person, a girl, and Merlin, Harry, but she haunts me. I know I've never seen her before, but we were talking to her, and we definitely _knew_ her. She was a friend, I'm sure of it."

"Well, what were we saying?"

Tracey looked forlorn, as she reached for the pitcher of water and poured herself a glass. "I've told you before, I can never understand what we're saying. It's in a language I've never heard before."

Harry got to his feet and in three strides stood several paces in front of her. "But you have heard it if you remember it."

"But Cho said I was manifesting _real people_ into my dreams, and if I could learn to decipher what they mean, I could determine the future."

"I know what she said." He sighed. "It just seems odd. Like how do you manifest an entire language? And the landscape around you? It's as if you've been there before."

"I don't know, Harry. Cho's the divination expert, not me."

"Yes, but you're the one who keeps having the visions, _not Cho._ "

Tracey sipped her water. "I'm not sure what it all means, but I swear, it evokes the strongest emotions from me. I hardly care about anything. And then I have one of these dreams or visions, whatever you want to call them, and it's like I turn into a complete ninny. All I want to do is cry. It makes no sense."

Harry placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. "Just tell me this much, did you get a _general feel_ for what we were talking about? I know you said it seemed philosophical, but close your eyes and tune in to the feel of it. Try to dig deep and pick up on something you may have overlooked."

She did as he bid, screwing her eyes shut in contemplation. "I feel like the girl, the strange girl, had just returned to us after a long time spent away. I feel like we were all… _reconnecting_. Greeting old friends, and making new ones. I think we were consoling her, because—" her voice caught in her throat, and when she opened her eyes, uncharacteristic tears had formed. "Oh, Harry, she'd been through a horrible ordeal!"

She wrenched away from him and flung herself on the bed, freely crying now.

Harry's brows drew together, as he watched the odd sight. Tracey _never cried_. She could be vicious and merciless, but never did she show sorrow. He stepped forward carefully, sitting lightly next to her on the bed. He rubbed a comforting hand over her back. For Merlin's sake, wasn't the point of having a divinator to shed light on the unknown? So why then, did he feel more confused than ever?

 **000**

Letting his newly rediscovered magic course through his fingertips, Draco directed the power towards the reed woven basket. It was an easy task, at first, to elevate the goods up the line of the waterfall, but the higher the basket went, the more difficult it was to hold the spell. The basket fell roughly to the ground. He sighed in exasperation amid Hermione's giggles. He glanced over to see she was having no trouble lifting the barrel of rum up the waterfall.

"Think that's funny, do you," he snapped, suppressing from his face the real reason he was on edge.

She magically rested the barrel unseen over the cliff's edge, high above them before turning to face him. "The reason it always falls on you, is because you lose faith the higher it gets. You shouldn't doubt yourself because you're making it harder than it is. Do you see?"

He grumbled under his breath, but tried again, attempting to forget about the height difference. _Mind over matter_ , he inwardly chanted, pretending that the damned basket was right in front of his face instead of high above his head. This time, he managed to just barely scrape the cliff's edge before it tumbled over the top to the other side.

Smiling proudly, he looked at her.

She smirked. "Well done. Not exactly graceful, but you almost have your wandless Levitation charm down."

With the goods transported up the trail, Hermione began to make her own ascent, and Draco followed after her.

"I'm not sure why you wish to go up here in the first place," he grumbled. "Odd spot for a drink."

"It's not _a drink_ ," she called over her shoulder. "It's a party. Do you know anything about parties, Malfoy?"

"I should say I know a sight more about them than you do."

"Oh." She raised her eyebrows speculatively. "I just bet you're the life of them, too."

"Actually, we hosted a great many balls at my manor. I'm sort of an expert. I don't think anyone back home would consider this little expedition in that category."

She scoffed. "All you need for a good party is an abundance of food, good company, and—" she quirked her lips, "plenty of spirits."

He raised his eyebrows. Such a suggestion was uncharacteristic of her. She always seemed to choose the path of discretion, but the prospect of letting loose after days of rigorous training was intriguing, and he had to admit that following her up the steep trail provided him with quite the view.

"Really Malfoy, it's shameful. To be exposed to all of this-," she gestured widely, "and not take advantage of it? The top of this waterfall may be the most beautiful place in the world. I don't know why we don't go up it more often, and we can use more lettuce for salads."

"It's a dangerous climb."

Mirth danced in her eyes when she shot him a look. "Don't worry, Malfoy—I'll catch you should you fall."

A muscle clenched by his temple. "I believe that's what you call hubris, Hermione."

"Is it?" He could hear the amusement laced in her voice. "I hadn't known."

He let out a small huff as they continued their vertical ascent. She bent nearly in half before pulling herself up another rock and he could not help but notice the enticing curve of her arse. His throat got suddenly dry.

Out of nowhere, she lost her footing, and he stepped up instantly to steady her by the waist, his breath whispered across the skin of her neck. "Perhaps you need someone to catch you."

He felt her hands clutch his wrists for balance as she took in a deep breath. Her chestnut curls brushed against his face and his eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment. Bloody hell, even on a sharp cliff he wanted her. The witch was a vixen.

Ever since the day on the rock, it had been an exercise in pure discipline to keep things friendly and cordial. He found himself staring at her lips as she spoke far too often, imagining what it would be like to reciprocate the heated kiss they'd shared. The inclination to do so was constantly pressing. Just as he was longing to reach down, only a scant few centimeters, and lick the shell of her ear. _Gods, how he wanted her_. She plagued his thoughts night and day, no longer able to push the idea out of his mind when it assaulted him. She was forever prevalent. He should receive some type of award for remaining as aloof as he had been.

"Malfoy," she said huskily. "You can let go now."

He quickly dropped his hands. "Sorry."

She took a tentative step forward and they walked in silence the rest of the way up the trail.

The witch was right, of course. Malfoy had traveled to many places around the world and this was probably the most beautiful place he'd ever been to. Walking along the edge provided a rare view from behind the waterfall, and at the height they'd climbed to the scene was breathtaking. Nothing could compare to the unparalleled view, which displayed much of the island—even parts they had yet to explore.

He was hardpressed to care, especially when there was a much more distracting view in front of him.

Discreetly observing Hermione as she carefully hiked and climbed over the cliff was much more preferential. The rest just blurred in the background. When they reached the top, he tensed, poised to aid her over the treacherous ledge should she need assistance. She navigated over it successfully and he was quick to pull himself over after her.

"Merlin, it's amazing up here," she said, a look of awe etched on her face. She glanced over at him and he was careful to look indifferent. "Don't you think so?"

"It's like you said." He located the barrel and dragged it a safer distance from the waterfall. "The most stunning location on the island."

"You've been all over the world." She took the basket of fruits and shells, careful to grab some that had spilled over onto the long grass that hedged the water. "Where does this rank?"

He watched as she walked around the water and placed the basket under the grotto. "Nothing rivals it," he answered simply.

She looked up, smiling tremulously. "Come here, Malfoy." She slipped off her sandals and dipped her feet into the water.

He walked around the length of the calm pool, helpless to refuse her. _Wouldn't it be terrible if she ever came to that realization?_ Draco didn't like the idea of anyone having power over him. But when she called to him, he almost felt in a trance-like state. It was silly, and he was sure he could simply shake the disturbing feeling, but the hell if he wanted to.

"Here." She handed him a conch shell. "Fill this one nice and full with rum. I'll work on the juice."

He lifted the lid of the barrel and filled the shell to the rim, the amber liquor spilling over the sides. He took a few steps back to where she was sitting and sat down next to her. She set two shells down filled a third of the way with mango juice, before taking the rum he collected and filling each drink the rest of the way up.

"I learned a spell," she explained with a grin. She touched both of the shells and he watched as they turned cold and frothy before his eyes.

"Which one was that?"

She bit her lip.

"Let me guess—no incantation."

She nodded, before taking a sip. He took a drink as well, reveling in the sweet, cool taste.

"Do you see that?" She pointed to the side and above them. "That cliff? That's where I'd carve out my house. I'd make an open lanai where I could walk out every day and look down at the island, drinking my morning mango juice. It's probably the safest place, what with all the rain and flooding."

"Yes, you'd want to build somewhere high."

She wrinkled her nose. "It's too bad I know nothing about magical architecture."

He took another swig from his shell. "You would want Martin Dubois. He's a French architect. He specializes in custom magical homes." He looked around appreciatively. "I bet he'd love a job like this."

"It would certainly add to his resume. Who knows? Maybe he will be commissioned in the colonies and get shipwrecked here himself."

"Why, Hermione." Draco clutched his chest dramatically. "How unlike yourself to wish ill-will on others."

She giggled. "It _would be_ convenient."

He motioned to the grotto underneath her _proposed house_. "Rock is hard. You definitely need wands to cut through something like that."

"I still think we should figure out a way to make our own wands."

"Wandlore is com—"

"Complicated, yes, I remember." She got up and began shimmying out of her dress.

He froze. "What are you doing?" He was pleased to find his voice was far calmer than how he felt.

"I'm not swimming in my dress." She quirked her lips. "My shift will do just fine."

"Swimming?"

"Yes, swimming, silly. This is a party, remember? A water party…or…" she paused with a look on her face that could only be described as contemplative. "A waterfall party?"

"A pool party?" he proposed.

"Yes," she exclaimed, grinning widely. "A pool party, that's excellent, Malfoy."

She slipped into the water, ducking completely under before coming back up again. He was surprised to note that the water was so clear, he could see her even when she'd sunk several feet. She wasted no time floating onto her back, absently kicking her legs slowly to stay afloat.

She was clearly trying to kill him—that was evident. How was he supposed to stay friendly and cordial when she looked so bloody tempting? The material of her thin shift clung to her soft curves, and left nothing to the imagination. The outline of her breasts stood out proudly. He could even make out hardened peaks forming under the material. He unconsciously licked his lips. Did she even know what she did to him, or was it all as unintentional as she made it appear? Her luscious locks were framed around her head like a halo. She did look rather angelic, clad in white.

Abruptly, she turned over and swam back to him, grabbing her drink to drain the rest of it.

"Ow," she said. "My brain hurts." She set the empty shell down. "Well, Malfoy, aren't you going to get into the water?"

"I'm fine here, thanks," he said throatily, reaching for his own drink.

She shook her head. "That's not how a pool party works," she said, with a slight slur. Despite his discomfort, he was amused at her attempt to look reproachful. "You should be the expert at your own invention."

"I am the expert, and you're doing it wrong. We're supposed to sit and admire the water from the sidelines."

She splashed him promptly in the chest. "I veto this rule. Come into the water. You won't regret it—it's lovely."

Similar to before, he found it difficult to resist her request. With shaking fingers, he began unbuttoning his shirt before slipping it off and letting it drop from his shoulders completely. When he looked up, he was startled to find her staring at his naked chest. She was biting her lip, and tilting her head ever so slightly to the side as she absently twirled a renegade curl.

He swallowed down a choke as he stepped into the water. She was definitely toying with him. There was no way she could be unaware of the effect she had on him. What game was she playing at? Clenching his jaw, he stepped further into the water, circling her as if he were a predator. _Or rather, she's the predator and I'm her prey._

She smiled widely, a dimple appearing distractedly under her right eye. "See, Malfoy," she said, apparently oblivious to his feelings towards her. "I told you it was nice in here." She drifted to the corner, her hands hidden in the water.

"What are you doing?" he asked suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing much. Just shifting things a bit."

"Shifting?"

"Yes, you know, elongating a rock here, raising it there, adding a hot spring…that sort of thing."

With effort, he kept the shock he felt from showing on his face. "You're doing transfiguration?"

She shrugged. "Trying. I want to sit down in here. Not sure if I can conjure the hot bubbles though, it's proving difficult. Feel free to help."

Dropping his previous misgivings, he wandered over to her. "I can help."

She guided him, and together they transformed a corner of the pool a slight distance from the actual falls. Using the rocks already in the pool, they were able to transform them enough into underwater seating. Hermione managed to create a spring coming up from the earth that shot warm water into the area.

After refilling their drinks, she waded back to the stones and handed Draco his drink before sitting down beside him. Her close proximity caused him to shift uncomfortably. He tried to distract himself by looking straight out and to the left at the spectacular view in front of him, but if he twisted his head a little more, he could see her, and she made for a far better view. He was suddenly assaulted by distracting images in his mind…images of Hermione stretched out before him and clad only in her thin chemise. How he longed to peel it off of her like a glove. He could do nothing to stop his mind from imagining what was under the material. Heat plummeted to his loins at the mere thought, and he had to think of something quickly to distract himself with.

"Maybe it wouldn't be so impossible to make that cliff suitable for your house." He tried and failed to keep the tremor from his voice.

"That's nice of you to say, but elongating and stretching is much easier than cutting into the stone altogether. You're right on that count—the wands are a must." She let her head loll back to rest on the ground, inadvertently arching her chest up from the water. He could not help but stare hungrily at the delectable sight she made. "Mmm. This warm water feels lovely. Sweet Morgana, but I could stay here forever."

He wracked his brain, struggling to find something, _anything_ , to push his mind in another direction. It took much creative effort, but he'd managed to do quite well at it in the past several days. Now he was drawing a blank. He was sitting up at the top of the cliff, watching the sun drop lower in the sky. He could see the ocean, his favorite place to be in the world, in a wide expanse of exquisite blue spread out around the rich green landscape of the island. She was practically floating next to him, in complete serenity, looking as calm and tranquil as the sea. Girls had a name for this, witches like Pansy would say it was _romantic_. Draco knew nothing about such things, but he supposed if anything was to be classified in that category, this would be it.

 _Fuck if I know._ All he knew was he was slipping, and he was going to do something he regretted, and it was time to rein things in, even if he needed to ruin this perfect picture they made. He couldn't make another mistake, especially if it was something she didn't want herself, and clearly she must have regretted the kiss he'd initiated, because she hadn't been keen on broaching the topic afterwards. He tried to mention it, but she'd quickly dismissed it, blaming the _magical high_ they both shared. It had been too easy to drop the subject. Other witches he knew seemed to love to harp on an issue, it should have been a relief to meet one who didn't, but ironically, he wanted her to push it. The woman never did what he expected.

 _Pick a fight,_ a voice in his head suggested. _It doesn't need to be about anything in particular, just something. A fight will be like pouring a bucket of ice water on whatever this is._ He was reluctant to heed his own advice. He didn't wish to offend her, why couldn't he just get a hold of himself? Regardless of the reason, he couldn't help it, his body was tensed and his breaths came more unevenly.

It was all her fault, really. She was doing this, _she had to be aware_. He was first and foremost a man. He could either end it, _or give in_.

"Now you're just trying to tease me," he said with a cruel twist of his lips.

Her eyes flew open, and a puzzled look flickered across her features. "What?"

"You're sitting there…I can practically see through your dress."

She sat up and quickly crossed her arms over her chest in horror, before looking up at him, indignation burning in her eyes. "I didn't know you were looking, Malfoy."

Instead of feeling ice cold numbness, he felt a flash of guilt, and the heat seemed to only intensify. _I just need to try harder._ He pressed on. "You don't need to play coy, I saw how you snogged—that was far from innocent."

"Don't forget who snogged who!"

"You weren't complaining."

"I was far too stunned to see you were actually kissing someone with inferior blood status."

He felt bile rise up in his throat at what he was about to say, but forced himself to say it anyway. "That's right, your blood is _wrong_. You might be a superior witch, but it's a _mistake_ , nothing more."

She straightened, dropping her arms from protectively hugging her chest, and for once it was her that towered over him. "Is that so, Malfoy? Please don't hold back. Is that how you really think? I can't say I'm surprised. I'll always be a _Mudblood to you_. But you know what I think?"

"I don't care." He shrugged and averted his eyes. She could throw her best at him, this he could deal with. Anything to disrupt the perfectness of the evening.

"I think you liked it."

He stopped breathing. Perhaps the two drinks had affected him more strongly than he thought? For she _could not_ have just said _that_ , of all things.

He glanced up wearily, and was alarmed to see triumph in her eyes. "What?" he queried. "Are you daft?"

Her smile widened and she took a step forward. "You heard me. _You liked it_. Despite your prejudiced Pureblood upbringing and all the rhetoric that's been harped into you over the ages, you enjoyed yourself, and now you don't know what to make of it."

He swallowed audibly and steeled himself, looking up at her with a sadistic look on his face. "It was tolerable enough."

"Tolerable?" She arched an eyebrow, appraising him as if he were a rather difficult Arithmancy problem.

"Enjoyable," he admitted.

"Is that all?"

"Yes." The lie left his mouth far too easily.

She narrowed her eyes in disbelief. "I think you're lying."

 _Sod it all,_ this was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to be pushing her away, not drawing her closer. _She's done this before,_ he tried to console himself, _she knows how to toy with a man._

"That's a rather bold statement, Hermione."

Her eyes glittered dangerously and Draco vaguely noticed the way the sky had darkened around them to a deep shade of blue. His body tensed.

"There's only one way to test the theory." Her voice was velvety and oddly drugging. "I want to kiss you—is that so much to ask?"

A challenge. She was merely challenging him. _Just kiss her and get her out. End it quickly and prove to her you mean what you say_. He spread his legs more widely in the water and stretched his arms out on either side of him. "Is that what you want, to test your theory? Go for it, then." He willed his blood to chill in his veins, promising himself he would stay numb to her advances.

Doubt flicked across her face. She worried her lip, before clenching her jaw in determination and wading closer to him, until her legs were almost brushing his in the water. He watched her, erecting a haughty mask of indifference. She seemed unsure, _and that was a good thing_.

A light breeze skimmed across the water's surface, ruffling her damp curls in the process. His breath hitched as her freesia scent assaulted his nostrils. He swallowed discreetly as his senses became clouded. She seemed doubtful about where to place her hands and kept them by her side, careful not to touch him as she leaned forward. His gaze dropped unwillingly to her mouth.

The first brush of her lips was chaste; a mere whisper. Heart racing, he forced his breathing calm. She pulled away, a small crease forming in her forehead. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion before she leaned down once more, this time pressing her lips more firmly against his. They were warm and pliant and tasted sweet, like mangos. Exerting all the effort he could, he didn't respond.

She pulled away again, shoulders slumping slightly, and his eyes were drawn to the white skin of her neck, painted alabaster in the evening sky.

"See," he challenged. "Enjoyable."

A spectrum of emotions passed over her expressive features. Her eyes widened first in annoyance, before tapering in determination. "Perhaps I just need to try harder," she drawled, hauling him forward by the shoulders whilst seating herself fully over his lap.

It had all happened so fast, Draco had no time to school his reaction. This time when she pressed her lips to his, there was _urgency_. The tentative exploration quickly evolved into something hot and wanton as she opened her mouth, bidding him to do the same. Her fingers trailed through his hair and he couldn't help but grip her hips. She tasted so good, a potent aphrodisiac, and he found his will crumbling with every nip and suckle of her lips. How was he supposed to remain aloof with her straddling his lap? It was impossible to ignore the awakening of his senses and how spectacular it felt.

He shoved away his irrational fears, whatever they were, spurred on by the heat stirring in his loins. He placed one hand gently, but firmly on the back of her neck, and with the other grabbed her leg and twisted it more tightly around him. His tongue danced with hers, searching for more of that exquisite taste he could never tire of, so intrinsically her.

She was warm and supple in his hands and he delighted in the feel of her fingers sinking into his hair, scraping against his scalp. Around a moan, he shoved his fingers through her luxurious locks, letting his free hand sweep along the curves of her body. He wanted more, gods how he _needed it_.

Her tongue grazed against his teeth, and he tongued her in blatant sexual desire. The fire inside of him was alive and hungry.

He fought the inclination to snap his hips, not wanting to scare her, but Merlin how he wanted to _move_. He was hardened to steel, and she had to feel him, nestled as she was on top of him. Heat crept up his throat as he returned her kiss with a ferocity that both surprised and thrilled him. Somehow, it didn't occur to him that he should be pulling away, that he was treading a dangerous path, that he'd only set out to prove his point and stopping now would most definitely assure that. Stopping was the last thing on his mind.

He broke away, breathing heavily. "You taste so good," he informed her, paying rapt attention to the column of her throat. "I want to taste more of you."

"Even if I'm a Mudblood," she said throatily. Her chest rose and fell in uneven pants, but her hooded eyes still appraised him challengingly.

"I don't care about that," he admitted, making to capture her lips once more, but she halted him, placing her palms on his chest.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Let me show you how sure I am."

Her caramel eyes glazed and her eyelashes fluttered shut as he latched onto her neck, nuzzling, and tracing his tongue along the tight tendons. He delighted in the feel of her warm hands gliding along the naked expanse of his back. Wherever she touched sent tingling sensations rushing south.

Widening her thighs, she seated herself more fully down on him, and around a moan, he shoved a hand through her bewitching hair, securing her waist with his free hand. Her fingers drew to his neck, lightly massaging, nails scraping. He comforted himself with the fact that when she'd spoken to him, her eyes had darkened with lust—there was no fear. The thought comforted him. She had done this before, and it was okay to pursue this. He needn't worry— _he needed this_ —and _needed her_. Really, who sodding cared if he allowed this to happen? He was a man obsessed, and the only way to rid himself of it was to have her— _just once_. Her blood status didn't matter, wrenching her thighs apart and assuaging his raw need was _all_ that mattered.

Brazenly, his hands wandered over her chest, stopping when she keened as he brushed against hardened peaks. She undulated her hips and he hissed at the wholly delicious friction.

"Like that, Hermione?" His voice sounded oddly possessed, and so very far from his own.

She whimpered in response.

Suckling her throat, his fingers continued caressing her chest. He longed to be rid of the blasted chemise.

"I can make you feel so good," he promised, mind fogging with his desire. "I want to show you how good I can make you feel."

He thrust upward through the vee of her thighs, seeking the blissful heat he could feel despite the fabric that separated them. She arched her chest back and let out a low moan, causing his arousal to jerk, begging for more.

Desperate and hard, their lips clashed together. There was a strange almost giddy-like feeling in the pit of his abdomen, and he couldn't help shake the feeling that if he submitted to their heated kiss, he'd fall into a deep chasm he'd be helpless to escape. He kissed her back without stopping to expound on the madness of it, the mind boggling, delicious madness. His heart raced and his adrenaline pumped as if he were readying himself for a fight. His tongue slipped against hers like silk, water lapping around their hips, as his hands glided everywhere. But it wasn't enough, he wanted _more._

The water was getting in the way of what he really needed to do.

Straightening, he pulled her up with him, dragging her to the edge of the pool. Their lips never parted as they stumbled clumsily. The warm island air should have chilled him but his skin was on fire. She ran an errant hand down his chest, trailing along his abdomen, causing his brain to spin. He walked her backwards until her back pressed against the wall of the grotto. His fingers trailed along her thighs, bunching the fabric at the hem, and dragging it up her wet skin.

"Let me show you," he murmured, coaxing her.

A stifled whimper issued from her lips in response. Aching for friction, he pushed himself against her so she could feel him through her shift gathered around her hips. He moved his mouth to nuzzle her neck, kissing it hotly as his fingers continued their upward ascent, before slipping between her legs, and finally finding her silken heat.

Her head thwacked back against the stone wall in bliss, eyelashes fluttering like jumpy flitterbies as he worked her expertly, finding her sensitive flesh and circling it with his thumb.

"So tight," he hissed, his breath fanning against her neck. He fought the urge to grip himself with his free hand, instead resting his forearm against the wall above her head.

"Please." The plea tumbled from her lips, as she wrapped a hand around his arm and interlaced her fingers with the other stationed above her head.

He nodded, mind buzzing from being so painfully hard. He pushed another finger in her, imagining it was steel, hard length driving powerfully into her tight heat, pounding naked skin against naked skin. He could tell her pleasurewas building judging by the pulsating around his fingers. Making a sound not dissimilar to a growl, he worked her, edging her towards the delirium he wanted desperately to bring her to, over and over again.

Capturing her lips with his own, he explored the decadent flavors of her mouth whilst his fingers picked up speed. He swallowed up her moans and whimpers of delight, considering them a personal triumph. When her back arched and her mouth fell open in a silent scream, he pulled back to watch her, as her pleasure rocked through her.

He memorized her face, taking note of how unintentionally sexy she looked like this. Her shift had fallen past her shoulders, revealing part of her chest to his hungry eyes.

 _He wanted her._

 _He had to have her._

Dragging her chemise the rest of the way down, he guided her to the floor. Eyes heavy lidded and languid, she followed.

 **000**

Magic thrummed through her body as someone far more primitive than her stretched leisurely over her fallen dress. She couldn't think, just feel, so she acted on pure instinct. She watched as Malfoy crawled over her, mesmerized by his golden skin and the predatory look on his face. His piercing silver eyes threatened to skewer her very soul. He looked like he may devour her, and the thought thrilled her.

The new experience should have incited fear, but with _him_ , he only brought her pleasure. She trusted him explicably. He made her feel good, and right now, she wanted to do the same for him.

The shift was soft beneath her back, up against the hard grotto floor, but it was _too small_. She brushed her fingers lazily over the fabric, directing some of the magic that had seemed to ignite inside of her, into the material, willing it wider and thicker. The effect was instantaneous and she sighed her content as she rested on the soft material. There was so much energy coursing through her, she thought for one giddy moment that she could indeed cut a hole inside the rock hard cliff.

She was invigorated, and if it weren't for Malfoy pinning her down, she didn't doubt she may float away due to how light she felt. But now his eyes were raking over her bare chest, and where she may have felt the urge to cover herself in shame before, she could only stretch appreciatively under his gaze. Her body was recovering, and she became aware there was something far greater on the horizon.

Something nagged at her brain, something distant and unwanted, causing her to be slightly perplexed. There was a forgotten challenge, a point she _had to prove_ , but whatever the reason for it had been seemed highly unimportant now. She wanted him. There was no sense in denying it. Blood status didn't matter. Social status didn't matter. Propriety was long forgotten. The ancient call of a man and a woman who desired each other. What was more beautiful than that?

Hermione could not expound on it further, because he was running his hands over her heaving breasts, and leaning down to capture one pert nipple in his mouth. Her heart started racing as her breathing sped up once again. Her hands searched for something steady to hold onto and found his shoulders, delighting in the feel of his heated ridges and defined muscles under her fingertips. All logical thought fled as he scraped his tongue along her skin.

Her head fell back and forth, as the heat in the pit of her abdomen grew hot once more. She'd been deliciously sated a moment ago, but now she craved more. She told him so, neglecting completely to care how wanton she sounded.

He chuckled darkly against her skin, the sound was almost unhinged. "What do you want, vixen?" he gritted out, the words coarse and raw.

She didn't bother correcting him. She knew she was no vixen, yet he made her feel like she was. Eyes snapping open, she dragged a hand from his shoulder down his chest, reaching for that throbbing hot part of him she ached to touch.

His eyes screwed shut and he hissed as her fingers closed around him, for the first time. She delighted in how powerful she felt with him in her hands squeezing lightly. His hand flew to her wrist, holding it tightly and preventing her from moving.

"I want you inside me," she stated boldly.

His eyes locked on hers with cold, silver clarity, far from their usual guarded maliciousness. He looked almost tender, which was odd considering the tense way he held himself. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she yearned for more, as she wished to enjoy the feel of him.

"I can't wait any longer," he rasped, nudging apart her thighs.

She accommodated him, trusting him completely. He looked down on her with indescribable intensity as his hard length parted her silken flesh. She keened at the feel of him there, pressed up against her where she desired him most. It was almost too much, she'd only moments before been rocked with pleasure, and she was overly sensitive.

He muttered almost incoherently and she had to strain to hear, her body all the while tensing for the unknown. "So hot…so wet…"

His eyes were dark with lust as he pushed with a slow gliding motion and drove deep inside her. There was a sharp, fleeting pain, that caused her to close her eyes tightly. When she opened them, she saw a look of bewilderment on Malfoy's face.

His eyes were heavy lidded and confused. "I don't understand—"

She let her body adjust to him…to the fullness. The brief pain ebbed until it faded completely, giving way to an entirely new feeling, one that urged her to move.

But he was above her, looking frozen and torn, and she had a moment of panic that he would pull away from her.

"It's okay," she assured him, struggling to find the right words.

"No, I…I didn't know, didn't mean to—"

His fear was irrational. His eyes were full of regret, and she couldn't have that. Bracing herself with her forearms, she pushed up, forcing him to his seat, with her on top of him.

She gasped at the feel of him now buried to the hilt. The new angle brushed against something deep inside of her that elicited a shot of mind-splintering pleasure. It was something she hadn't felt before and she wanted to feel it again. Around a groan, his hands found her hips, holding her securely pressed to him.

"Are you sure," he said, eyes closed in bliss.

Anchoring herself around his neck, deliberately allowing her fingers to run wildly through the softness of his hair. "Show me," she demanded.

Growling, he picked up her hips slightly before forcing them back down. "Like that." His voice sounding pained.

"Oh." She moaned in understanding, before repeating the action. He continued to groan as she moved, falling into pattern that caused her mind to whiz and dizziness to surge. She whimpered as she adjusted her angle, hands folded around his back, and neck exposed to his searching lips.

The pressure built as she worked herself over him, the liquid heat inside of her churning like hot lava. She squeezed her muscles over his throbbing member and the action seemed to cause his restraint to snap. Eyes opening wide, and lips parted fractionally, he gripped her by the waist, driving up with her each time she thrust down. They moved in tandem. Brain spinning, she desperately searched for her release, keening on every downward thrust.

"Can't last," he bit out, moving his hand on her waist to where they were joined. With single-minded purpose, he sought her sensitive flesh, rubbing taunting circles over it.

Her head fell back in ecstasy, as she felt the pressure mounting.

"Hermione. My name, say my name, _please_."

Stunning sensations bloomed as she ground into him, her pleasure crashing over her. " _Draco_." Harsh breaths tore out of her mouth as she rode the rapturous wave.

His mouth slanted over hers, hot and demanding, as he pulled her roughly on top of him, once, twice, before tumbling over the edge with her, his name on her lips. She held him tightly to her, while tremors rocked through his body, practically melting into his chest.

 **000**


	10. Chapter 10: Confessions

**A/N:**  
 **Over 200 reviews-I've been spoiled! Thanks so much C: I've got this one out sooner than the last, and I'm working on the next so here's hoping that one updates quickly as well. The plot will really start to pick up here in the next several chapters as some storylines will meet. December is a busy month for me and I'm taking a lot of call, but I'll work on it when I can! Also, made an aesthetic you can find on photobucket, AO3, or FB-all of which are listed on my profile. Happy reading and I hope you like this next chapter C:**

 **Carrington Shaw and RooOJoy are the most awesome betas a girl could ask for!**

 **Inspiration: Skyrim Elder Scrolls, From Past to Present (again) and my FF Nook peeps!**

 **Thanks for the interest on this story and to the reviewers:** **BabyBHawk2013, HaveManners, romancenerd7878, Mistress DragonFlame, bennettfan84, I was BOTWP, Meiri, sunshinealeia, RunningQuill, valentinalondono3597, pgoodrichboggs, AnnaOxford, Green Eyed Lana Lee, daswhoiam, Rcaseyseale, Bernaheartsyou, Landre, Sandra-Sempra, LeanaM, SorceressNox, riddlesgurl86,** **and the guests!**

* * *

 **000**

Tracey leaned against the crude wooden ledge of the river house balcony. She loved this time of day, when the mist from the river that cut through the town billowed along the water's surface. The sun hadn't crested over the thick fringe of trees yet, and the village of New Godric appeared eerie in the early morning light.

She glanced over her shoulder at Regulus, who sat with Cho tangled over his lap, smoking a long pipe. The sweet smelling smoke curled around the small lanai, tickling her nose. She ran a hand through her tousled blond locks, and sighed in exasperation.

"Trouble sleeping, Trace," Cho queried.

Regulus exhaled a plume of smoke. "I think our dear Miss Davis would prefer to wallow in her sorrow alone."

Tracey gave an indelicate snort. "I'm not wallowing in anything. I only wanted a bit of peace this morning."

Regulus scoffed. "We're the early birds of the bunch. You're the one who gets up around noon every day."

It was true. The daily festivities of the village did tend to run late into the night and Tracey could hardly resist missing any of the fun. But with the increasing dreams and visions, she was hardly ever in a celebratory mood anymore. She was far too drained from the unwelcome feelings and sensation that wracked her body every time she had another episode. It was one thing if she could just simply dismiss them, but the fact that they invoked such strong feelings made it impossible to do so.

"Alright, maybe I have been having some trouble," she admitted. She straightened from her crouched position and walked over to the couple, holding her hand out and gesturing for the pipe.

"What?" Regulus said, clutching the pipe protectively to him as best as he could with Cho in the way. "You don't smoke."

"I do now. Hand it over."

He begrudgingly handed over the still lit pipe and she took a deep inhale from the curved bit, before coughing and sputtering profusely. "What the bloody hell is in this, Reg?" She thrust the wooden piece back to him, staring distastefully at it.

"Ask your sister, she's the Herbologist I got it from."

Her lungs still burned and feeling suddenly lethargic, she sat down by Regulus and Cho. "Tes usually puts together a calming mix."

"Tessie has several mixes in her wares. I prefer the harder stuff." He arched his eyebrow and smirked.

Tracey sighed again, letting her head fall back to rest on the rough wood of the river house. Cho detangled herself from Reg's lap and came to sit on the opposite side of her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked. "I can empathize with you a little. I know what it's like when your gifts start to surface. It can be a confusing time."

"Maybe I don't want this gift," she said with a snarl. "I'm an entirely competent witch sans unwanted divination skills. If anything, it throws me off."

"I get it," Cho placed a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder, "but you'll learn to use it to your advantage eventually. It's called a gift for a reason—because it's helpful to you in some way—you simply have to figure out how."

"Do you not see how knowledge of the future is helpful, Cho?" Regulus asked rather bluntly. "Of course it's a gift."

"That's just it." Tracey sat forward on her knees, looking out towards the river, and then further still past the trees and to the open sea. "I don't feel like it's the future I'm seeing. I feel like it's the past…" her voice trailed off uncertainly. "That is, I think it is. It's just a feeling, but when I have them, they stir up far more questions than they answer."

"I've never heard of a divinator who saw into the past," Cho murmured thoughtfully.

Regulus's features twisted in confusion. "What good does seeing into the past do for anyone?"

Cho shot him a look of warning, before looking back to Tracey who was biting her lip and staring off into space again. "My advice to you would be that next time you find yourself in one of these visions, attempt to have some control over them."

"Control?"

"That's right." Cho nodded encouragingly. "Take a deep breath and count to three. Remind yourself of what's happening and that it's a mission of sorts. You're there to scrounge for information, sort of like a reconnaissance mission. If you approach it with that in mind, you may notice details you wouldn't normally."

Tracey shook her head sadly. "I don't know if I can do that."

"It's your vision, _your gift_ ," Cho reminded her, "bend it to your will."

Tracey's eyes widened as she mulled her friend's words over. Could she really have that much control? She would love to of course, but it seemed so out of reach. _I can always try._

"Brilliant," Regulus said, sitting up. "Now that that's squared away I'm going to see if I can wake Ronald and Justin. Get those tossers to help me fortify the _Praetexio_ charm."

Cho rolled her eyes, suppressing a grin. "You do that." She turned to Tracey. "Meanwhile, I can take you to my place and we can read tea dregs, like Hogwarts days only, maybe we will see something now?"

Tracey beamed up at her friend, feeling lighter and less burdened after their talk. "That sounds lovely."

 **000**

The palace hallway seemed large and intimidating to Theo, when compared to his previous living situations in the dungeons. He adapted a face of indifference as he walked down the hall, shoes clicking on the expensive marble.

It had been a while since he'd worn shoes. He flexed his toes tentatively, unused to the feeling. He longed to adjust the collar of his dress robes—they felt s _tifling_ —but any jittery movement on his part could be construed as a weakness so he resisted the urge.

He wondered idly how long Blaise and himself had been sequestered to the dungeons, and their subsequent torture. He'd lost time when his brain had slipped, but he got it back. He would rather not think of the reason for which he got it back, especially not right before he was to meet with the King, but she was his saving grace, or the memory of her, anyway. Just like he was likely the saving grace for Blaise, who otherwise may have experienced a permanent mind slip if it weren't for Theo's attentions.

 _Rip it from your fucking mind and don't think on it another moment,_ he inwardly chanted.

He glanced to his left to see Blaise, features inscrutable, striding confidently next to him. They were escorted by two Court Aurors, their red robes the only splash of color in the hall with its shades of black and grey. The sconces flickered on the walls, lighting their way.

Theo was wary. Would they be sitting among all the Lords? Their fathers included? The last thing he desired for was his father to be disgraced or embarrassed. His only wish now was that the Nott's could become incognito for the time being—they needed time to regroup. He realized the hope was, of course, a folly. King Riddle would not be so forgiving where failure was concerned, and he knew, as did Blaise, that the real challenge was yet to come.

Passing this test would decide their livelihood.

He was comforted by the fact that he did not see the reason for the Healers nursing them back to health and dressing them in finery if they would only be murdered mere seconds later, but then, that was the way of their King.

They rounded the corner and entered into a large room with a stone table. The King sat at the helm of it, wearing green robes, his fingers steepled underneath his chin.

"Ah," he said, looking up. "Theodore and Blaise. I'm pleased to see you've recovered enough to treat with me."

A muscle clenched imperceptibly by Theo's jaw as he quickly dropped to one knee next to Blaise, tucking his head in the shadows. _Recovered_ , he scoffed inwardly.

"Please, arise," the King commanded graciously. "And have a seat. We have much to discuss."

The wizards did so, taking a seat to the right of the King. He smiled at them both, the kind of smile a father would deliver to son that had just returned from a long journey, but the smile did not touch his eyes. Theo was nothing if not observant.

"Apologies for what you both had to endure," he said empathetically. "A month spent below is not ideal for anyone, but you do understand."

 _A month_ , Theo inwardly marveled at this bit of news. _I could never have imagined we were there that long_.

"Of course," Theo replied smoothly. "We understand completely."

"What we endured," Blaise hazarded carefully, "was necessary in obtaining the truth."

"Your memories." King Riddle deadpanned. "So they've returned to you?"

The men nodded solemnly.

The King's face was carefully guarded but Theo noticed a glint in his eye that he almost construed for greedy. "Very good. I hope my methods did not cause too much distress."

"They were necessary, Excellency," Theo said. "It was a difficult decision to make, but for the good of the cause."

"Yes." The King nodded. "For the good of the cause. The information locked in your heads thanks to the Order's memory charm is imperative to our success. It was a tough decision to make, but I had to consider not only your needs, but the needs of everyone else."

"The wise decision of a leader, Excellency," Blaise said.

Theo was relieved to notice the wizard was not holding himself so stiffly. Apparently, his Slytherin tendencies were coming back to him.

"Now that that bad business is settled, we can discuss the events that transpired a month and a half ago." King Riddle's tone was clipped as he leaned forward, emerald green sleeves that signified royalty, slid against the stone table. "I want you to tell me everything of the events you can remember, starting from the day the Emerald Serpent was attacked at sea."

The men shared a glance, and Theo's throat suddenly felt dry. He swallowed carefully, before he looked to Riddle's piercing blue ones.

"It was a day like any other day, sire," Theo began tentatively. "We were sailing the ocean, no land in sight."

King Riddle nodded intently, imbuing him to continue.

"I remember that day, we were checking on the cargo. We'd lost a few on the long journey."

"Why was that?" The King raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Incompetence," Blaise answered.

"That's right," Theo continued, resting his forearms against the table as he leaned forward. "Crabbe and Goyle were in charge of the Muggle cargo. They let a few get sick. I saw the both of them fall into the water only right after the battle had commenced."

"You're getting ahead of yourself," the King spoke urgently. "What happened after you checked on the Muggles?"

"The Captain gave them a thorough reprimand, and we went back above the ship. It was only a few moments later before we were attacked. Potter's ship appeared out of nowhere; it didn't even try to conceal itself, proudly waving the red phoenix flag. We acted immediately, but they were in range and prepared. Before we could set our cannons, their blasts were tearing through the _Serpent_ , ripping through our wards and tearing the ship to shreds."

"You were overwhelmed?"

"The fight only lasted twenty minutes, at the most," Blaise said. "Very quickly, we noticed that it was only the Captain and us two left standing. When he was hit with a Stupefy, he hit the water and disappeared into the blackness. I fell in shortly after, but I was conscious."

"As was I," Theo said.

"And Captain Malfoy, you're sure he didn't surface?"

Theo's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Yes, Excellency. I had meant to search for him, but the ship was in shambles, torn almost in half. The water was churning and I could barely keep myself afloat."

"What happened then?"

"We were plucked from the water, Highness, us and four Muggles." Blaise stared unblinkingly at the King.

"It was dark, but I saw the wizard that cast the _Obscuro_ on us, Ronald Weasley. He cast it and led us to the holding cells where we were… _healed_. We were kept there for the duration of the trip, until we were in view of land."

"And that's how you were found in the Western Sahara?" the King probed. "So kind of them to drop you off on our side of the world."

"In only a day's travel, we were in Floo distance," Blaise confirmed. "Though memoryless, we were recognized and brought immediately to Court."

"But you must have learned something above the ship?"

"A witch named Tessie brought us food, otherwise, we were left alone and wandless, until the day they set us in a charmed rowboat, headed for shore." Theo didn't quiver as he met the King's hard stare, even as he felt the brush of the Legilimency.

" _Sorry, Theo, but I have to do this. For your own good and for ours. I hope for your sake your master is lenient on you and we do not send you to your death. You clearly are not ready to join us."_

He hid the thought, concealed deep in the recesses of his mind. He tucked the blond vision of a witch away, wand pointed straight at him, and guarded her safely from Riddle's curious eyes.

"There was one point where we saw several members," Theo confessed, outwardly ignoring the invasion of his mind. "Both Black brothers, Potter, and Ronald were the ones who placed us in the boat, who cast the Obliviation, but before that, they received something."

"Some form of communication?"

Theo felt the King greedily rummage through his mind, impatient for the answer, seemingly uncaring Theo knew he was using such an invasive spell.

"A Patronus." But the King already had his answer, and triumph as well as a new determination passed through in a split second.

"It was a weasel," Blaise needlessly informed him. "Probably from another of the Weasley clan."

"The bane of wizards everywhere," the King muttered, and his attention drew away from them as he appeared to mull through the news they'd delivered.

Theo sat rigidly in his chair, resisting the urge to look over to Blaise.

After several moments, King Riddle snapped out of his trance, and looked directly at them once more. "You've done wonderfully, boys, and I will see to it that your sacrifice is suitably reimbursed to you both, but just tell me one more thing. At any point of this… _adventure_ , did you see or hear from Draco Malfoy aboard the rebels' ship?"

Blaise's mouth opened in shock at the implication, but Theo was able to school his features slightly smoother.

"Even in a cell further away from yours, or above, anywhere. Do you have any reason to believe he is still alive?"

"No, Excellency," Theo answered definitively. "It would take an act of the gods to have saved him from the horrible fate he surely suffered."

 **000**

The heat of the sun cut through the foliage of trees, warming her neck as Hermione bent down to wash the linens by the pool. She cast a nervous glance to the treehouse, where Malfoy was still sleeping. Sometime in the night, the rock-hard cliff had become too uncomfortable to sleep and they'd made their descent back down the cliff.

She looked up the first waterfall, unable to see the second set of falls from her vantage point, but she knew it was there, and she remembered what they'd done. A blush creeped up her neck at the reminder.

She really did not know what had happened. One moment she was setting out to prove a point, and the next she was pressed up against the cliff wall, letting Malfoy have his way with her. It was completely out of character; she wasn't some slag. Yet things had seemed to culminate to the boiling point, as they often did when she and Malfoy were concerned, and she was helpless but to submit to the madness of it.

 _And now how will things be between the two of us? Will he think less of me—that I'm a loose woman? Or will he want to continue whatever this is?_ She thought back to the way he had aided her down the cliff, the bright stars and the scant light of the moon guiding their way. She was weary and languid, and had allowed him to carry her up the stairs and to their home, content to curl into his embrace as he laid down beside her, wrapping her in his arms. It had all been so tender, and so not what she'd been expecting, but she had hardly been of sound mind to expound on it at the time.

Aside from being worried about the way he felt about things, she also was confused about her own feelings. He'd said crude, malicious things to her before giving her the most exquisite pleasure she'd ever felt in her life. It was mind-boggling. She was utterly confused and she didn't know what to make of it. On one hand, she was inexplicably drawn to the Pureblood who she knew she had no business setting her attentions on—it was impossible. On the other hand, she should surely be angry for his crass treatment of her. She couldn't allow herself to be abused.

 _Maybe it isn't his fault_ , she thought as she magically charmed his shirt dry and folded it before laying it softly on the grass. _Can I really expect him to forsake everything he was taught so quickly?_ Malfoy's deep-seated prejudices would not be so easily cast aside; despite her best efforts, these things took time. The fact that he was even trying and was attempting to see blood statuses was encouraging enough. She could be patient with the man. There was a willingness there, and she could sense it.

Upon finishing the laundry, she carried the load to the treehouse and set them on the steps. Setting her sights on breakfast, she walked to the nearest guava tree. It was there that she discovered the nest of unattended Fwooper eggs on a low hanging branch. They caught her attention because they weren't speckled and opaque. She delicately reached for one and held it up to the sunlight, coming to the conclusion that it was indeed unfertilized.

Happily, she set the three eggs along with the guavas into the lap of her dress and carried them back to the dying fire. She'd just been longing for eggs and bacon. Guava juice and eggs would be a fine substitute.

It was after she'd located the savory spices and begun frying the eggs as best she could on the stone hearth that Malfoy finally awoke and descended the stairs. She was squeezing the guavas into the shells when he came to sit in one of the bamboo chairs.

She was thankful for the task at hand, glad to have something to do to occupy her hands with, as she tilted her head to face him, worry consuming her. Concern smoldered in his eyes, causing her heart to flutter in her chest.

"Good morning," she ventured tentatively.

"Good morning," he returned, holding himself rigidly in his chair. "You weren't there when I awoke."

Hermione swallowed audibly, debating how to respond to the question, or rather statement. "Er…yes. I thought I'd get breakfast started," she gestured to the food she was preparing but his eyes were glued on her, "get some laundry done…that sort of thing."

He didn't respond, regarding her silently, and she found herself wishing she was a Legilimens so she could simply pluck out of his mind what he was thinking. Was he bothered she had fled his bed in the morning? She wasn't sure what to think when she had awoken, his breath ghosting against her neck, and one arm held around her. She'd turned to examine his face in the early morning light. Absent the sneer he often wore, he looked content and at peace. She'd detangled herself quickly, unwilling to endure the awkwardness that would surely occur.

She paused in her work. "Was it your wish for me to have stayed?"

He nodded and she felt a flash of guilt shoot through her. In an effort to save herself the embarrassment or potential heartache of being rejected, she'd tucked tail and run, and in doing so, possibly made him feel rejected.

"Sorry," she mumbled, getting hastily to her feet and vanishing the mess she'd made. "I hadn't known. I—," she faltered, struggling to find the right words, "I obviously haven't had much experience with such things."

She whirled away, before Malfoy could see the look of vulnerability that had surely surfaced.

He caught up to her in several quick strides, and spun her to face him. She looked up at him with wide eyes, wishing she could simply melt into the ground. He looked torn, and Hermione wondered again what he could be thinking.

"I wanted to apologize."

"Apologize?" She hauled herself away from him, rage suddenly surfacing out of nowhere. "And why did you need to do that?" Her right hand fell to her hip as she glared at him.

He clenched his jaw whilst his whole body tensed. Hermione could not summon any fear, only anger.

"I'm sorry for a great many things last night."

"Well, I'm sorry you have so much to be sorry for," she said with a snarl, turning away from him and forgetting completely about the breakfast. All she wanted to do was get away from him, especially if he regretted their time together when it had been the single most perfect time of her life. Tears sprung unbidden to her eyes and she broke into a run.

He caught up to her quickly, and stopped her more forcibly this time, grabbing both of her wrists and pressing his chest against her. Her body instantly came alive to her chagrin, and she found herself leaning into his touch. He nuzzled her neck before whispering into her ear, causing tingles to shoot down her spine.

"I don't regret being with you, silly witch, I only worry I was too rough…I'd have been gentler had I known." Her arms fell slack by her sides and she swallowed down a gasp as his hands began to wander from her hips and up her sides. She grew lax under his coaxing touch. "And the things I said right before…I didn't mean them." One hand came up to cup her throat and he lightly kissed her neck, his nose tickling her. "That's what I'm sorry for...princess."

Her rage melted away and she suddenly felt rather silly. She took a step away from him, if only to catch her breathing, and he didn't try to stop her.

Mustering her courage, she turned to face him. "It's not like you hurt me." She felt a flush creep up her neck. "I suppose it was cowardly of me to leave this morning, but I wasn't ready to talk about it."

"You're the oddest sort of woman. Usually a witch wouldn't stop harping on something like this."

"Had a lot of experience with this?" she asked sharply.

"Not as much as you may think," he answered honestly. He smiled and reached for her hand. "Look, I'm saying all the wrong things. Can we sit down and eat your meal? It smells heavenly."

She eyed his outstretched hand debating whether to accept his offer. In the end, she determined she was acting rather silly. She nodded, and reached for his outstretched fingers.

 **000**

Draco rested his head back on the grass, sighing in content after eating the delicious breakfast Hermione had prepared.

He chanced a glance at her. She was sitting up and playing with a stream of water she'd snatched from the pool, bending and morphing it into different shapes. He smiled. She was an odd witch, and he sensed that she had a lot of guards up. It was clear she had never let someone close to her before. He swallowed hard, lest he spout off something cruel and ruin things again, like he tended to do so often. He wasn't sure why the witch made him so nervous; it wasn't like being around beautiful women was exactly new to him, but somehow he found his confidence wavering in her presence and he was often prone to spouting off at the mouth with something cruel.

He couldn't stop thinking about what had happened between them, and how he wished to repeat the experience again and again. There was something about being around her; she drew him in like a moth to the flame. They would fight back and forth, both of them unrelenting, but when they gave in to their baser desires it was explosive in the best of ways.

Still, he was tinged with guilt. He'd uttered obscenity after obscenity at her in an effort to push her away, he hadn't even meant them—not really—and then he took her like a man starved. He had stupidly thought she was attuned to such things, she certainly had fooled him, but she was as pure as the first winter snow, and surely he could have done things differently.

Plucking a small white flower from the grass, he called upon his magic, willing the dainty thing to grow and shimmer brilliantly in the light of the sun. He handed it to her, and she let the ball of water fall into the pool, but made no move to grab it.

"It's for you," he explained.

She stared at it apathetically. "What's it for?"

She really was the oddest sort of woman. "It's a flower. Don't girls like this sort of thing?"

"I suppose. I just don't see the purpose for it." She grasped it delicately. "And why must you keep reminding me of your exploits with other women?"

He shot her a scoundrel-like grin. "Jealous, lovely?"

"Hardly," she scoffed. "More like irritated."

"Buggering hell. Day one and I'm already irritating you? Perhaps I should vacate to the other side of the island and we can meet on nights when the moon is full?"

She quirked her lips. "That might be too frequent," she teased.

He raised a brow. "Do you think so? Because I believe you would be navigating those treacherous cliffs yourself within a fortnight."

"Do you?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she turned her body towards him.

"Perhaps you need to be reminded of just what you would be missing."

She bit her lip as if debating. "Maybe you're right." She leaned back on her forearms. "A refresher course may be needed."

Draco swallowed audibly at the blatant challenge before he was on her in seconds, tumbling her the rest of the way to the ground. His mouth slanted over hers hot and possessive, leaving her panting in seconds. He'd missed her taste and decided that he would rather not go a day depriving himself. She was soft and pliant and she gripped onto his shoulders, holding him securely.

She broke away, taking a few seconds to find her breath. "I suppose you're right; a month may be too long of a separation."

"You'll soon learn I'm always right," he chortled.

She straightened and stepped to the edge of the pool. "Malfoy," she said, glancing back at him. "I think that's called hubris." She jumped into the water.

He reluctantly stood to his feet, waiting for her to surface. "You do so love to swim, don't you?"

She nodded, smiling ruefully, before swimming to her favorite spot on the rock and underneath the falls. He peeled off his shirt and cast it aside on the grass before diving in after her.

When he reached her, she was sitting on the slick rocks and watching the falls, holding her knees to her chest.

"About last night," he began, determined to say his piece.

"I already told you not to worry about it."

"It's just, what I said couldn't be further from the truth."

"Believe me, I understand." She turned her head, resting it on her shoulder. "I was raised around Purebloods like you. I'm well aware of their hatred for Mudbloods."

"Thanks to you, I'm second-guessing all of that. Really, it goes beyond that." He captured her gaze intently, imbuing her to listen. "I never looked at witches as my equal, just in general, but with you I look at you as more than my equal."

Her eyes widened in surprise by the admission.

"It's true. You've made me question everything, look at it all differently. Truthfully, I'm starting to wonder if it's even right what we do to Mudbloods, or Muggle-borns rather. If they even possess a quarter of the magical capability you have, I don't see why they should be banned from the magical world. Muggles, too. I'm starting to wonder why we can't live in peace with them."

"Do you really mean that, Malfoy, or are you just telling me what I want to hear, for some unknown reason?"

"I really wish you'd call me Draco. Surely you can after this point?"

She smirked. " _Draco_."

"I do mean it," he stressed. "Absolutely I do. I'm not sure there's much I could do to change things, but I certainly wish things were different."

"That's quite treasonous. Isn't that what the Order is guilty of preaching? At least that's what you made it sound like."

"The Order is filled with scallywags and murderers." He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "They killed my crew, good men. They would be like trading one dictatorship for another. The whole thing is a mess and I don't see how there is any way to fix things."

"I wish you'd try." Her eyes tapered in annoyance. "You're in a position where anything you say would actually have a rather large effect."

"How do you know I wouldn't," he pressed. "Perhaps if I were given a chance, I would speak out in Court."

"That would be suicide. At least the Order has some semblance of power."

"They're doing it all wrong."

She sat back quietly, eyes trained on the water as she digested his words. It felt oddly freeing to get that off his chest. Speaking to Hermione was definitely therapeutical.

"Draco," she said hesitantly. "There's something I must confess."

His throat constricted at her words, and he felt suddenly wary. "Oh?"

She bit her lip before looking up at him, doe eyed. "I sort of," she fiddled distractedly with her hands, " _may hav_ e…cast a _Praetexio_ charm on the island."

His mouth fell open. He had expected her to say anything but that.

She watched him with trepidation. "Are you really that gobsmacked?"

"That's a two person charm, Hermione, a very complicated one at that."

"I knew the incantation, and so I tried it. That's what I was doing the day you found me with a bloody nose."

"You were acting a bit dodgy that day, weren't you?"

She shrugged. "Sorry."

"You never cease to amaze me." He shook his head, looking stunned. "That explains why the Order ship sailed past us."

"Are you angry with me?"

He peered at her with an expression of honest curiosity and longing combined. "How could I be?"

"I could take them down," she offered.

"Why would you do that?"

"You said if you could do anything in the world, you'd get off of this island."

He smiled as he remembered saying that to her. It seemed like it had been ages ago. "I did say that, didn't I?"

She nodded, looking up at him expectantly.

"That was before. Now I know this place is paradise. There's no steak, but at least we get eggs once in awhile. And I have you."

She blushed at his words. "But your family…"

Draco drew his eyebrows together at her reminder. Yes, his family. How were they faring without him? His parents were likely broken up about it. He wished there was some way to communicate to them he was safe.

"See," she said, watching the torrent of emotions flicker across her face. "You miss them. I'm not so afraid for my own safety that I would deprive you from ever seeing them again."

"I honestly don't know how safe I could keep you, what kind of life I could provide," he trailed off uncertainly. "But I will admit, it would be nice to see my parents and my grandfather again, to let them know I'm safe, but I can't ask you to do that, not when your safety is threatened."

"What of the injustice people are facing? They're oppressed, Draco. Do you want to hide away from the world, or do you want to do something about it?" Righteous indignation burned in her eyes. "It would be cowardly to hide away from everything, I see that now. I'm no coward."

"Who's to say we will ever be found? It's almost been two months. They've likely stopped searching if they ever did to begin with. And truthfully, I don't know what the two of us could do."

"We can watch and wait."

He watched her, smiling softly. "That's the Slytherin way. And if the path is too dangerous, I'll scoop you up myself and cart you back here, maybe with Martin Dubois." She chuckled and he continued, "Not to mention some cows and chickens, maybe some proper English furniture?"

"You can bring your parents." She laughed freely.

"They can live on the other side of the island."

"Will we visit them monthly?"

"If even that. They're not the kindest, you know."

"Their reputation precedes them." She stood to her feet, water dripping from her gown. "That's a nice dream, but it seems a bit far-fetched."

"I don't mind staying here," he admitted. "But if we were somehow found, know that I would protect you. I get that you haven't had much of that in your life, but you can count on it from me."

She smiled tremulously, before setting her jaw in determination. Draco watched with fascination as she broke the wards. This time, he was there to catch her when she collapsed.

 **000**

Lucius hated the ocean; he always had.

That intensified tenfold when his son made it his goal in life to reject everything his father Abraxas and he himself had laid out before him to pursue frivolous adventure on the high seas. Where had that landed him? Hopefully somewhere, because he had not been immortalized in the family tapestry, and if he was not immortalized, then he was alive and that was sufficient cause for Lucius to search.

He would hear no more of Narcissa's incoherent ramblings; he cared not for them. They were the pessimistic views of a hardened and bitter woman.

He knew the truth—so long as that portrait remained empty—hope was alive.

Pacing the red wooden deck of the large and cumbersome cargo ship he was forced to seek passage on, he took another wild glance around him, but all he saw was sea. They had stopped on numerous cays and islands, some known and others uncharted, some bearing the royal flag and others wild and untamed, but they never ventured very far. He knew his son would build shelter close to shore, so that is where they always searched.

They had made ten stops thus far, and the crew was growing wary with Lucius' relentless searching. They wanted to make their profitable stops to the known New World and then back to England, before continuing on to the Australia's. Lucius was having to empty his coffers and then some to get them to continue on the mission.

 _But they had to continue._

Draco was still out there; he could feel it in his bones.

When he found him, for a Malfoy was nothing if not determined, he would force the boy into royal service as he should have when he'd left Hogwarts. He'd been far too soft with him. Hopefully Draco now realized the importance of doing what was expected of him as well as taking a proper Pureblood wife as was expected. There would be no more indulgences—he'd certainly had his share.

Lucius glanced at the hardened men that bustled around the ship in distaste. He was surrounded by Muggles, and a crew that could hardly be considered Purebloods. _Scousers, the lot of them_. He'd have to keep them happy just the same. All that mattered was plucking Draco from whatever godforsaken island he'd marooned himself on. He'd stop at nothing to ensure success.

 **000**


	11. Chapter 11: Reluctant Rescue

**A/N: Sorry for the delay-I was on holiday in the Caribbean of all places! So definitely got a little motivation for this chapter C: Made a chapter aesthetic (I always do for Shipwrecked and AUE-they are my faves!) which you can find on fb, photobucket, or AO3. Thanks for the lovely reviews &&happy reading!**

 **Beta Love to: RooOJoy, Carrington Shaw, and SlytherinPrincessNurse1994**

 **Inspiration: Time is the Enemy by Quantic**

 ** _Your reviews give me life!_ : ****Frogster, chibi-Clar , pgoodrichboggs, EStrunk, Mistress DragonFlame , Sandra-Sempra, riddlesgurl86, LeanaM, MammaWeasley27, daswhoiam, Eternity511, mega700201, Yuuki Kuchiki, HereToRead84, Beth, jane-scarlet, MysterySan, andherestograce, Amultimillionaire, creepymacaroni, LoveJulianaRose, Bernaheartsyou, TRAP999, happiness8000, Mia, karengleekhk, and the guests!**

* * *

 **000**

Time devours all.

So she had been told.

Only it didn't.

Not for her.

Time became obsolete just like everything else.

The urge to eat, to drink, to sleep...she'd gotten used to forever craving but never succumbing from the consequences of being without for so long. It was unnatural...and it was _torture_. Suspended in a permanent state of wanting but never sating her hunger or thirst. Only her pulsating need for revenge that burned hot and alive inside her chest kept her sane...or mildly sane anyway. It was all debatable, according to Nina.

 _You're going mad,_ Nina informed her quite giddily.

 _Psh,_ Rowen scoffed. _She's as clear headed as she's ever been._

Hermione could feel more than see Maurelle nod. _The need to exact your revenge will do that to you, dear; focuses you, it does!_

 _Don't worry,_ Rhea attempted to comfort her. _They'll come back for you! They wouldn't leave you like this, not after all you've been through together...through the years...all the times you've shared!_

 _They won't come._ Nina shook her head madly, and Hermione imagined her beaded hair swishing through the air. _They fear her far too much._

For once, Hermione was inclined to agree with Nina.

 _But Red Edge,_ Rhea cut in. _They'll want to find it._

 _They won't risk letting her out of the prison just to ascertain that information,_ Maurelle intoned wisely. _They've found a way around it, and Red Edge will stay hidden._ If Hermione could feel human contact, she would probably feel Maurelle's hand as she placed it comfortingly on her shoulder, a mere whisper. _You may have lost, dear girl, but at least you've bested them in this. The others will always be hunted, but they'll also be able to return, and thus be safe._

"They've kept me in stasis by tricking me to give them my very own elixir," Hermione rasped into the darkness, worry rapidly consuming her. "But what if they find the water's location? They can do this to others."

 _Too many jinxes. Too many obstacles. They won't find it._ Rhea's words were confident and sure, and Hermione longed to believe them.

 _You've done all you can do._ Nina twirled in mad circles, and Hermione could feel the breeze from her sheer tunic spinning around her. _Don't punish yourself, just embrace that there was nothing more…_

"I could have done _more_...more wards...more _something_. It was all up to me and it's likely I didn't do enough. The two of them are _nothing_ if not resourceful." She stretched as much as she could against _his_ stringent bindings.

The others grew silent, and Hermione feared she would be alone again. The solitude is what killed her; as long as there was someone to talk to, she retained her sanity.

"It's going to devour me...I'll fade into nothing...nothing more than a crustacean against the cave wall...with no sentience and no grasp on reality," she whispered aloud. "I'm not even sure how long it's been...weeks? Months? Years?"

"A century."

Hermione let out a gasp when she heard _that_ voice. She felt the others cower away in her mind, all save Maurelle, who had always been the bravest.

"It's taken you that long to elevate your mind." Nyx's voice was loud and clear, unlike the other versions, and it reverberated through the air. "Time devours all things, but it will not devour _you_."

"But it _will_." She felt tears stinging her eyes for the first time in ages. "I don't want to fight anymore, I feel myself slipping, _and I want to_ , what's there to live for? I've been betrayed in the most horrifying of ways by those closest to me, I'd rather _not remember_. Nina is right; I've done all I can, now let my mind be free of this burden. The sting of what they did is far too painful to bear."

"Nina is a silly little girl, not elevated like you. Don't tell me you didn't see this coming? For I did."

"You might have told me." She was unable to keep the scorn from her voice.

Nyx stepped forward, illuminating her prison with a faint glow she'd not seen in years. _Sight! Blessed sight._ How she missed being able to see. Her feet dangled far above the water. The crystal accents of the cave glimmered along the wall. It wasn't much, but it was just enough to remind her that she was really _here_.

"You knew. _We prepared for this_. Do you remember? Surely a hundred years have jogged your memory. You aren't like these flippant versions you insist on comforting you— _you are elevated_."

"And you?"

"I'm the highest elevation you've ever reached. I am who _they_ fear, and you need to remember, for this is nothing," she gestured to Hermione's bindings, "a mere obstacle in the grand scheme of things. Draw from your magic, silly girl. The Fae are no match for you."

The tears flowed freely now. "But how can I? How can I draw from it? I have no means to wield it!"

"You are no mere witch," Nyx spat cruelly.

"I know of the elements. I know I do not require a wand. But the water below is shielded from me and I cannot call upon it. There is no earth to derive power from, just solid rock. I've not felt the heat of fire for a century, much less could I draw power from it, and even if I had all of those things, these bindings make it impossible to access my magic. I'm trapped!"

Nyx stepped ever closer, despite being several meters from the ground. Hermione looked into a face, an ancient face, not dissimilar to her own, but there were subtle differences; the knowledge in Nyx's eyes, the awareness, all of which overwhelmed Hermione. "You know. We prepared for this treachery. It will not be by wizard's magic that you will seek freedom through death, but by air, _it was always air._ "

Hermione shook her head, feeling lost and empty. "Air. _I can't_. It's the _hardest_ , I've never had an affinity for it. I can't perform magic through air."

"But you can," Nyx argued, her black eyes boring into Hermione's. "You're doing it now. You've summoned me, haven't you? And you need to. _They_ will not rule this world in peace. Each plan they hatch is more destructive and unnatural than the last. The world needs you to resurface, if not just to oppose _them._ "

Hermione stared, lost and empty, into the scant light provided by the apparition she'd conjured. "How do I know this is really happening? That I'm already bypassing the bindings and calling upon air?"

"Now that you know, you will be aware. Force yourself to discover your affinity for it; all you have is time."

She sensed her guide fading, and raw panic churned dark and insidious in her gut. "Nyx! Don't leave me."

But her light had already snuffed out, and she sensed the familiar solitude once more.

 _No, not alone,_ Maurelle assured her. _That's right,_ Rhea piped in and Nina nodded vigorously. _We will never leave you—not now. We have something to work for now,_ Rowen told her, _something to live for._

Hermione tightened her jaw and closed her eyes against the darkness. Air, that would be her saving grace against fatal hopelessness. There was a chance...a chance to right all that was wronged.

All she had to do was try…

 _Hermione_

Try…

"Hermione!"

She opened her eyes with a gasp, and she immediately saw intent grey eyes staring back at her. Her chest was rising and falling in shallow pants, and it took several seconds for her to calm her breathing.

"Draco?" she breathed, glancing around to see she was wrapped in his arms. She could feel his magic envelop hers with a gentle caress, quickly easing and alleviating her previous panic.

"That's right, I'm here. You were having a nightmare, or I suppose a daydream?" He gestured around them and for the first time she realized they were on the beach, just under the shade of a large palm, with blankets snuggled underneath them. The sun was lower in the sky and she realized it was likely late afternoon.

"How long have I been asleep?"

He shrugged, furrowing his brow in concentration. "Can't have been more than an hour, but I dozed off too so I'm not quite sure. Lunch was very good." He smiled widely, but when she did not immediately respond, he frowned. "Are you sure you're alright?"

She felt a lump form up in her throat as visions replayed in her mind. "It was so real."

"Do you want to tell me about it?" He ran his hand down her gooseflesh-ridden arms.

"I was in a cave," she began uncertainly, "and there were others there, people, but not quite people. I knew their names, knew them almost as well as myself, but now I can't remember for the life of me. We were trapped and there was no way out."

"You have vivid dreams," he informed her, before kissing a line down her dress-clad chest. "I had a dream too, you know?"

"Oh?" She arched a brow curiously.

"Yes." He gathered the material of her dress, bunched around her thighs, and dragged it higher. "Shall I demonstrate to you how much more… _enjoyable_ my dream was compared to yours?" he asked with a sly twist of his lips.

Hermione narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "I have half a mind you lie awake thinking about such things, and it wasn't a dream you had after all."

"Ah, but it was a dream, a very _good_ dream. It's only fair you should reap the benefits of it as well."

"Pardon me if I'm still a little shaken up." But her tone had taken on a husky edge and her caramel orbs had darkened measurably.

"Lie back," he demanded.

For some reason, the order sent heat, unbidden, to her core. When he sat above her like that, with his fringe hanging just above eyes, hot, silver gaze raking over her, issuing commands as he was, she was near helpless to resist him. She soon forgot the inner turmoil that had been churning since she'd awoke.

"I really have grown quite attached to this dress," he informed her, leaning down to nuzzle her cloth-covered breast, before opening his mouth around her hardened peak.

"Is this what you were dreaming about," she said, gasping when he yanked the material down to expose her chest to cool sea air.

He laved and suckled one side before turning his attention to the next, and Hermione found her thoughts rapidly fleeing her. "Not quite," he answered, taking her dress in his hands and hauling it the rest of the way up her body. She raised her bum off of the ground and lifted her arms to help him, her cheeks staining red even as she realized what the action meant. He flung the white frock away and it drifted noiselessly down some feet away in the sand. "I had other plans."

She gulped, familiar trepidation mingled with embarrassment surfacing as it often did where he was concerned. Everything with Draco was new territory, and so far she'd been allowing her heart to lead the way, but was such a thing appropriate? They had never done such things in the daylight and her cheeks became tinged with shame.

"You're so beautiful," he assured her. "Not even a goddess could rival your beauty." Hermione wanted to ask if the sun had tainted his mind, but she could see the sincerity in his eyes and she didn't wish to ruin the moment. "Let me pleasure you—I want to make you feel good."

Her breath hitched in her throat. "You do," she replied, baffled. "You _always_ do."

Draco's stare grew intense, and it became difficult to meet his gaze. "Let me do so in another way." He lightly pulled up her knees, and gently pushed them apart.

Despite the most prevalent feelings of fear and embarrassment that warred with each other, underneath, there was a building desire igniting deep in the pit of her abdomen. All the sensations colliding together made her paralyzed with fear, resulting in her allowing him to proceed with whatever diabolical plan he wished to enact.

"Let me," he said silkily, adding fire to the flame that was quickly overpowering widespread worry that ruled her. "I only want to taste you…to bring you to pleasure," he dipped his head lower between her legs, and Hermione tensed in shock at the sight, "over and over…"

When she felt his breath, _just there_ , against her most sensitive flesh, already slick with desire, she very nearly reared up in a panic, bracing herself to flee. Perhaps she could run to the other side of the island? The elusive side she'd only seen at the top of the falls? She could escape from the shame of whatever had been about to transpire _and leave_ , never to think of it again. He had likely anticipated her doubt, for he dug both of his hands into the softness of her hips, effectively pinning her down to the spot.

Her heart beat wildly in her chest. She felt vulnerable, like a fool, this type of situation would _never_ happen at home—certainly not in proper society. Yet here she was, an active participant, and she should definitely stop him, yes, stopping him was the obvious answer—

Hermione let out a gasp of surprise when she felt his tongue touch her intimate flesh. It was like nothing she'd ever felt before, and all the troublesome thoughts she'd been thinking were quickly wiped from her mind. A jolt of pleasure raced through her, causing her to arch against his grasp, but this time, not with the intention of escaping, but with the innate intention of receiving more of the glorious friction she'd only briefly felt.

"That's it," his voice was tender but his face was feral. "Take the pleasure I give to you." Another lick, eliciting another unexpected buck of the hips from her. "I want you to enjoy what I do for you."

A moan that did not sound at all like it could have escaped from her mouth, so fraught with need, penetrated the air, and then his tongue was caressing, twirling, _melting inside of her_ , and she could no longer think, could no longer focus on anything, save for the indescribable sensations she was feeling thanks to his skillful attentions.

Feeling bolder, she chanced a glance at Draco, nestled between her thighs with his head buried between her legs. The sight of him _there,_ and the feeling of his tongue darting between her folds elicited the most exquisite sensations. She could feel a coil of tension building and threatening to snap—if only prodded in the right direction. He gently grazed a sweet spot, causing a moan to tumble from her mouth. Dizzy with want, she gripped the blanket for support, her body quivering as the pleasure mounted low in her belly.

She was helpless to suppress the passionate sounds that issued from her lips. "Please," she begged, arching further into his touch.

She felt the intensity of his hungry gaze before she dragged her eyes up to meet it. " _Please_ ," he drawled, breaking away from her. The tone of his voice was low and oddly hypnotic. "Please what?"

She frowned. " _You know_ ," she faltered. "I can't…"

He reached down, his nose nuzzling against her neck and his breath fanning against her bare throat. "Yes you can," he whispered seductively. It was all very difficult to concentrate as his fingers traced against her silken folds teasingly.

All logical thought fled when he moved his fingers _just so,_ twisting them so they flickered around that sweet spot again. She arched up, a litany of demands issuing from her throat as she shamelessly pressed against him. His free hand came to rest on her waist, anchoring her securely down. It was madness—delicious and complete madness.

"Stop teasing," she bade. "Make me feel good," the demands fell from her mouth of their accord, "bring me pleasure."

Eyes darkened with unabashed lust, his hand moved from her hip to wrap instinctively in the curls of her wild hair. Never stopping the motion of his fingers, she allowed his tongue to slip past her teeth, and gently scrape across the cavern of her mouth, exploring its sweetness and causing her to taste her own.

He feasted on her like she were some especially decadent treat. The throbbing ache deep inside her core combined with the added use of his fingers brought her to the precipice of bliss many times, only to be yanked cruelly back in a battle for dominance.

" _Draco_ ," the word sounded like an incantation to a spell, and she was helpless to manage anything else.

He finally took pity on her and sensing her desperation, increased the speed of his tongue whilst curling his features just so, and guiding her over the elusive edge she'd been reaching for. The universe exploded behind her eyes as the coil of desire snapped, causing her body to clench and quiver as pleasure spiked through her, magnified even moreso by the powerful magic that bristled forcefully through her until it found solace in his own magic.

It took her several seconds to calm her panting and regain some semblance of reality. It was almost embarrassing how thoroughly rocked she felt after being with Draco. Typically, she never stopped thinking, but at times with him, thoughts simply fled her mind and she was hardpressed to formulate words.

Now she could feel him, hot and ready against her thigh. The desire had not left his eyes and his body was strained with the need for release. Emboldened, she sat up and reached for him.

"Hermione," he said around a hiss. "You don't need—"

"Don't be silly." Gaze heavy lidded, she smiled before pumping him through his breeches once, then again. His eyes screwed closed in pleasure. "Now it's your—," she paused, something on the horizon having caught her attention. " _Draco_."

His eyes flew open at the abrupt change in tone and the clear panic in her voice.

"Sails." She gestured wildly to the wide expanse of blue ocean in front of them. "Just there."

Awareness crystallized in his silver eyes as he spotted the vessel. "That's a British ship," he informed her through gritted teeth. "My father's found us."

 **000**

"Another red ale," Sirius demanded, setting his tankard down hard on the counter, before leaning back in the high stool and taking a look around the loud pub. The bartender took the stein and refilled it generously with more of the thick bronze liquid.

Aruba—a cesspool of people with convoluted bloodlines. Non-magical and magical folk alike mingled freely throughout the island. For years he heard threats of Imperials coming to civilize the place, but thus far, the place remained a safe haven for people like him and Riddle's long reach did not extend to his Caribbean sanctuary. It was total anarchy, the leadership was a joke that could easily be bought off with a couple galleons, sickles even; money went far in Aruba. It was the perfect place to run an illegal co-op for the Order as crops were plentiful on the island. Money could turn a _no_ into a _yes_ quicker than any spell he'd ever performed, and the Order had plenty of that, they were first and foremost pirates, after all.

"Black," a whiny voice jolted Sirius from his private thoughts. He looked up to see a fiery red-haired number sauntering towards him. Penny, or was it Lucy?—did not look entirely pleased with him. He quickly jogged his memory to see if the wench had any grievances with him. He'd been quite knackered since he'd last shown face on the island. "You left in such a hurry last time." She shook her head disapprovingly. "And after I gave you a free job and everything."

"Did I?" Sirius did not even have to feign innocence as he couldn't remember for the life of him what she was referring to. Beside him, his partner, Minnie, snorted in annoyance and pulled her hat down low over her eyes. "I must have been remiss to leave such a beautiful creature like you in such haste."

The girl preened under his praise. "I'll say you were." Abruptly her glare turned reproachful. "I usually charge five sickles for such a service." She grinned, displaying surprisingly straight teeth, as she trailed a carefully manicured hand up his chest.

Minnie sighed, before jumping from her chair, and unceremoniously hauling Sirius from his seat. "We don't have time for this," she muttered, irritation lacing her tone. She turned to face the unknown woman. "You don't want this one, lass—he's been with scores of women, has diseases, he does."

The redhead gasped, appraising Sirius in a new light.

He was about to object, but Minnie pulled him roughly away, shooting him a look that could only be described as exasperated. "Not this time, Sirius. You won't be taking any Muggle prostitutes to bed this trip."

"I think I remember her being a witch," he argued, feeling suddenly salty.

"You don't remember her at all," Minnie accused.

"You don't have to be such a killjoy. If I wanted that, I'd just take Ginevra."

"This isn't a regular mission." Minnie stopped just outside the pub, pulling Sirius into the shadows and away from the glow of the rowdy patrons. "Potter sent us to meet with Circe, not only to pick up supplies. Besides—," she pointed inside the club, "you see him?"

Sirius squinted his eyes, peering into the smoky room. "Who?"

"The big-Viking-looking brute; the one nursing a tankard but not drinking much. That's one of Riddle's men. And you mean to bring down the house like you usually do, instead of staying on your toes around an Imperial."

Sirius broke away angrily from her grip, hastily lighting a cigar and taking a whiff before he deigned answer her. "I get the job done every time, don't I?"

"Only because I'm here to get you out of your messes."

"So you say." Sirius glanced again at the man, realizing that he did look fairly familiar. "I can tell he's a wizard, and a Pureblood, by the way he carries himself."

"Can you, now?" Minnie rolled her eyes as if to say his observation was obvious.

"That's Rowle; we knew him from school."

"I never attended Hogwarts," Minnie reminded him, snatching the cigar and taking a whiff for herself. "But I can spot one of you from a mile away."

Sirius frowned. Did Rowle's presence signify that Riddle was making good on his threat? Was he here to scope out the scene ahead of time and report his findings back to Court? Sirius worried that the next time he arrived, he might see Aruba converted to look a lot like the British capital, and not the wild island town he'd come to love. Would Muggles and Mudbloods soon be categorized in their respective places? King Riddle had already accomplished such feats on larger islands and was currently tackling the untamed mainland. It wouldn't be long before he had everything in a perfect model of what he wanted it to be.

"Come on, Sirius," Minnie tugged on his sleeve and began walking towards the port. "Let's go to the docks and take the _Valor_ to Circe's inlet. We have actual work to do."

"She's not going to be there, you know," Sirius informed her in a bored tone, absently examining his nails in a Pureblood habit he'd yet to break.

"How do you know? It's where she lives, isn't it?"

"She hasn't been there ever since giving us the information, _reluctantly ,_ might I add." He leveled his stare at her. "The temperamental creature wasn't pleased with us our last visit. If Potter expected Circe to be waiting quietly in hermit solitude, he'd have come himself."

"That's not true," Minnie huffed, as they made their way around the narrow alleys of Star Port.

"Isn't it?" he queried. "Potter makes sure to be on all the meaningful missions—he doesn't trust anyone else enough to do it. This is just busy-work."

"And if she is there?" Minnie raised a carefully arched brow expectantly.

Sirius let his lips curl in a roguish smirk. "I'll admit that I was wrong, but it's not happening."

Minnie let out an indelicate snort. "Fat chance of that ever happening."

Sirius scowled as they continued to where their ship was docked. Of course, Minnie had been correct; there was actual real work to be done, and by the time they arrived, the crates with the eggs, chickens, and sugarcane were waiting for them to load. They did so quickly, levitating the supplies to the holding cell on the ship in silence until the task was finished.

He was working diligently on readying the ship for departure when a cloaked figure caught his attention.

"Rowle," Sirius called before he could think twice about it.

The dark-haired Viking's head shot up at being discovered, and he halted in his step.

"What brings you to my stomping grounds? I know we're old school chums, but you need permission to enter my territory." The threat was clear in Sirius' words and Minnie tensed, reaching for her wand with trepidation.

Rowle sensed the potential trouble brewing as well, and put his arms up slowly, making a show of not drawing his wand. "I don't want any trouble, Black," he said cautiously. "I've come to recruit a few crew members to help me secure passage back to England."

"I find it hard to believe you made it this far without crew members." Sirius clenched his jaw and gripped his wand for good measure.

"There were others," Rowle answered evasively.

"Must have been a substantial loss," Minnie said thoughtfully. "You look rather lonely now."

Rowle spoke through gritted teeth. "I won't have a Mudblood addressing me as if she were my equal."

Sirius smirked coldly. "You've had Muggles and Mudbloods serving you all evening, this is fucking Aruba," he needlessly reminded the seething wizard. "You've sustained losses, substantial ones like Minnie said, even if you won't admit it; so much so that you're desperate enough to seek help here, of all places. Tell me, Rowle, have you had to magically push your vessel this far all on your own? Have you not been able to rest until today?" The enraged look forming on the larger wizard's face was all the confirmation Sirius needed. He chuckled darkly. "Not from us, though; you didn't run into Order members."

"No," Rowle confirmed. "It wasn't Order members."

"So who was it?" Sirius wondered, more to himself than anyone else. "If it wasn't us, who else is a threat to Imperials? I must meet them," he grinned viciously, "and thank them."

"We all serve our masters," Rowle informed him coldly. "It's just a matter of realizing it or not."

"Potter is my leader, not my master, but it sounds like you've realized you precious King's true nature."

Rowle ignored the jibe. "Will you let me pass freely, or will there be trouble?"

Sirius eyed him dubiously. "Minnie and I could take you with our eyes closed." Rowle blew a large, disbelieving breath through his nose, but otherwise remained unreadable. "Regardless of if you think we could or not. But I don't believe we shall."

"No?" Minnie raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"No. Rowle is on a path. Perhaps it's best to see where it leads?"

"If you say so, Sirius." Minnie did not release her harsh grip on her wand.

Surprise briefly flickered over Rowle's face, before he inclined his head just barely in Sirius' direction. "I appreciate that, Black."

"Safe travels, old friend, and may they be illuminating."

 **000**

Draco wrenched his hand away, for the tenth time forgetting himself and instinctively reaching for Hermione. It was despicable the way he'd had to abruptly change his demeanor towards her—that he was resorted to treating her as if she were but an ordinary servant and nothing more. He thought back to just a couple hours before, when they'd had mere minutes to make a plan.

" _Maybe we should hide," Draco suggested, running his hand anxiously through his hair. "It's not so bad here, and we don't have to do this just for me."_

 _Hermione shook her head, her brown eyes set and determined. "You need to see your family again. They'd be simply heartbroken if they thought you were lost at sea. Despite everything you've said about them—it's clear they love you." She clenched her jaw, and gripped the sides of her dress. "And I don't wish to be separated from you. Whatever happens—I want to go at it together."_

 _Draco couldn't stand still as he quickly flicked through his thoughts in an attempt to formulate a plan. "You'll have to play the part of my servant. I can protect you that way. So long as you are in my household, I'll see to it that you don't come to any harm, but honestly, Hermione—I believe you're safer here. They'll throw you in Azkaban if you let slip in front of anyone…"_

" _I don't care." She shook her head, sinking her teeth in her bottom lip. "I've hidden undercover all my life—I know how to."_

 _A mad laugh escaped his throat. "As barmy as a Gryffindor—I've no doubt you'd have been sorted with the lions had you attended Hogwarts." He closed the gap between them, and tilted her chin up gently. "It's of the utmost importance you be careful. This is only temporary, to get information like we discussed. If I don't like it, we are coming back here immediately and placing a permanent Praetexio charm on the place. Don't be a hero."_

 _She pulled away sharply. "Draco—we aren't cowards."_

"Merlin's balls." His father swore. "Is it really necessary to delay our departure to England further by filling this ship up with foreign food?"

Draco glanced at Lucius, who was leaning against the railing of the ship and watching as crew members brought fruit and fresh water aboard.

"Citrus is good on the seas," one of the hardened workers shouted, "helps against the Scurvy."

"Scousers," Lucius snarled under his breath and then louder, "As if any wizard of noble birth could succumb to something so pathetically Muggle." He held his white handkerchief over his nose, clearly displaying his disgust for nearly everything.

"Ain't muggle," the same crew member corrected, "that would be a _human disease._ "

Lucius eyed the man until he walked out of hearing range. "Do you see how they treat me?" he appealed to his son. "It's been like this the whole bloody time. The things I go through for you, but it was worth it, I was right and you were here all along. All will be well soon." He clapped him jovially on the arm. Then, spotting Hermione standing a couple paces behind him, he bade her forward. "You girl, help those men take those baskets below so we can hurry out of this place."

Draco saw a flash of defiance flicker over her face before she thought better of it, ducking her head and hurrying to comply.

"Stop."

His command caused her to freeze mid-stride. "Father," he said, turning to Lucius. "Hermione is not _that kind_ of servant."

"Really." Lucius raised his eyebrows speculatively. "You call her... _Hermione?"_

"She's been my companion for several months." The blood at his temples was pounding, and he felt near to snapping. The previous joy of seeing his father was somewhat diminished by the great risk they faced in returning.

"And what, pray tell, type of servant is she?"

Draco paused for a few seconds until he worked up the strength to force the words out. "A house servant, of course. And my own personal slave. I won't lend her to anyone else."

"What will your mother say?"

"Blast what Mother says."

Lucius glanced at Hermione, appraising Draco's witch in a new light. "I think the days in the sun have dulled your senses. We need to speak about your future, and put your childhood escapades in the past. If she's to be a liability, a weakness—,"

"She saved me," he spat angrily. "Not just from a watery grave when I was stunned and floating to my death, but again on shore, when I was forced to survive the Muggle way."

"Draco." All derisiveness had fled his face to be replaced by wariness. "You mustn't say such things, surely you know not to—,"

"I know," he drawled loftily. "But I'm telling you—I want _you_ to know. You want my compliance? You want me to accept the position of Chancellor, should the King still offer it to me? Be sure not to oppose me in this, Father—Hermione is _off limits._ "

Releasing a puff of air, Lucius gave a stiff nod. "A personal servant, of course, it is not so unheard of for a wizard to take a female servant." His father smiled, and he took a step forward, catching his son in a fierce embrace. "It's good to have you back, Son. You don't know how worried we've been. Your mother and grandfather, as well. I'm sure we can make this all right. We'll just need to go over a few things before you see the King."

"Whatever you say, Father." He turned towards Hermione, wishing for nothing more than to reach for her and hold her tightly. When would he next have the opportunity to do so? Would it be too risky to be with her? _Yes, you prat. Not to mention far too selfish._ "Hermione."

She tilted her head up, meeting his eyes stoically. "Yes, Master?"

His gut twisted violently at the sound of those abhorrent words. Swallowing back bile, he issued an order. "See to it you have adequate boarding down below. I'll not have you sharing barracks."

She looked slightly perplexed by the demand, but made to comply anyway, turning quickly and walking straight into a crew member who promptly brushed her aside. She lost her footing and stumbled, falling none too gracefully to the floor of the ship.

Draco instinctively made to help her, but catching himself, he amended the movement and instead went for the crew member, grabbing him roughly by his loose-fitting vest. "Would you treat a woman that way?"

The hardened man bared his teeth at Draco. "She's a sodding Muggle." He shrugged, as if Draco was unaware of his companion's blood status.

"How much do you value your life?" Draco asked with a sneer. "Fancy growing old?" The crewman's eyes grew wide with alarm at the clear threat. "Display your grotesque manners in front of me again, lay a hand on her again, and you won't live to see old age, I can promise you that."

Hermione watched from the sidelines, stunned at his rash action, gripping the tattered hem of her dress anxiously.

Lucius was the one who broke the tenseness of the moment. "It's about time someone put them in their place. Come, Son, take one last look at your island before we sail away for good."

Draco motioned to Hermione to come by his side as well, resolving to secure her boarding himself later. It would be awhile before they saw shore again, and it wouldn't be near as stunning a view as this Caribbean paradise. He felt her draw to the right side of him, carefully placing her hands on the ship's railing, and likely coming to the same conclusion as him.

Lucius shot a glance at the two of them before swallowing discreetly. "Lot's happening at the manor, what with Solstice season upon us. Your mother is outdoing herself again. I'm sure the King will even frequent a meal with us. You'll be excited to know we have a guest staying from Barnton…"

Draco attempted to tune out his father and focus all his attention on his island home... _his refuge_...his personal paradise. Soon it would be merely a speck on the sea before disappearing completely. He was determined to make it back here, once Hermione realized the situation back home was hopeless and far too big a job for any two people to handle, he would stock a ship with all the comforts from home he missed and he would come back to this place, with Hermione safely in tow, and his parents, too. They would likely grumble first, but ultimately, their desire was to see Draco happy and with grandchildren—they would eventually grow used to the idea.

He could actually make out the tip of the waterfall above the cliff's edge and the sweeping mountain views from behind. There was so much of the island they had yet to see, but even the bit they had been afforded was perfection. _I will return here,_ he silently vowed, lightly brushing his finger on the inside of Hermione's wrist in a comforting gesture. _No matter what—we'll make it back._

 **000**


	12. Chapter 12: Wiltshire

**A/N: Omgosh, you guys have to see the art imnotgabrielle, on Tumblr, made for this piece! It's so pretty! I love it because Hermione looks so powerful, and Draco is by her side like he should be. Also, the detail is AH-MAZING. Thanks so much to her for this C: You can see it on my Photobucket (under Shipwrecked), Tumblr, or FB.**

 **Beta Love to: RooOJoy XxX**

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 **~oOo*oOo~**

It was dark save for the scant light provided by a three- quarter moon. The flickering brightness cast an eerie glow along gnarled tree roots that sprung from the ground, causing the air to reek with the scent of composting bark. New growth stood guard like sentries around the most _primitive part_ , the part that held many secrets in its age-old depths _if one knew where to look._

Deep in the jungles depths sat a city, a _hidden_ city. One forgotten by modern men. If one traveled far enough, the foliage gave way to a ravine of sorts, before unveiling a once majestic city, now in mere ruins. Vines traveled along the edge of the old buildings and crested up the pyramids, holding the ancient stone in a death grip. Only the water from the fresh-water cenote ran freely, cutting through the city like a jagged cut from a blade.

The air was different here; it vibrated with an unseen energy, one that loudly proclaimed the presence of magic.

Humans were so abysmally stupid.

They could not see what was right in front of them.

The magicfolk were no better. These days, they were far too _thoughtless,_ too _imprudent,_ to notice anything save the senseless war they waged. The treasures that lie here lay vastly untouched from the human race, magic and non-magic alike and that was _good._ No one need know what was housed here.

Because it was an abomination.

It should never have existed.

Such power did not belong in the human realm, but in that of the Fae, where it could be kept safely away from the grasp of humans. The one responsible for the creation of this place caused much dismay to the Fae realm. It was an endeavor that had been done stealthily, over the span of a fleeting lifetime. The Fae were not made aware of the dealings here before it was too late. And the man-rulers, sovereigns, and kings that had risen since were not worth consorting with. Human leaders born with an inherent sense of wisdom were a rarity, they came evanescently through the centuries and _never lasted_.

Except for the Old Soul.

The Old Souls were perhaps the most evolved of the humans, the _most intelligible._ Over millenia, they proved to occasionally present with intelligence worthy of Fae consideration. But more often than not, the meddlesome species proved unwelcome adversaries.

Even so, the Queen, though temperamental, was wise and just. She knew how to deal with the race. Pit them against each other. It was unnatural to have humans climb up from the bottom where they belonged. Better to be rid of them entirely.

Despite the solution, there was _still_ this to deal with, and Carling despised the interruption in a life of otherwise paradise.

Humans that caused this level of tediousness should not suffer to live.

A bright, flapping creature flew by in a sparkling whirr before stopping where Carling stood, purging the immediate darkness. She watched with listless eyes as the creature's form morphed and shifted into a form not dissimilar to her own. The warrior was the epitome of Fae beauty and could cause a human's eyes to melt with sheer adoration if they were ever given the privilege to be in his presence. Oren stood to his full height, appraising her with iridescent eyes.

"It is just as we thought; the place has been disturbed," the golden-haired Fae informed her angrily.

Carling furrowed her brows in distaste. "How do the witch's old wards not cause the trespassers to burn where they stand?"

Oren twisted his shoulders gracefully in what was supposed to be a shrug. "I sense death in that which we cannot access."

The statement elevated her wrath all the more. To think that there were places in the human world where they could not access! It was a disgrace.

"That's not all," Oren added silkily. "I also sense the portals have been used."

"The one connecting our world?"

"No, a minor one."

"Probably that _spinster,_ " Carling spat out scornfully. "She does take of our waters."

"Waters that have no business in this realm."

"That is a hopeless flight."

"Still, she takes of them sparingly. She does not wish to chance discovery." Oren glanced around, inhuman eyes scanning the perimeter. "What came here was not from her—it's not _her trace_."

"The Queen will not be pleased." If Carling could feel the same spectrum emotions humans do, she might have felt fear.

"Her wrath will be terrible to behold," Oren agreed. "She might send an emissary to the human sovereign, again."

The notion caused something akin to distress to swell in her chest. "We do not know for sure what lies in the chamber," she ventured tentatively, _sneakily._

Oren, who was nothing if not sharp, inclined his head carefully. "No red-blooded humans were caught here today."

An out—a _small_ one. They would be compelled to report human experienced they witnessed first hand, but this...

"The Queen already knows of the portal-crosser, and lets her use our gift sparingly. The witch has not been trouble for centuries."

Oren nodded. "I say there is nothing to report here."

"I agree, Brother."

The Fae were forced to stand guardian over the land that should have been smited from the earth from the start. They were tasked with watching over it, to make sure it stayed hidden from human eyes so that no more atrocities could be created here, as were created many years ago. But there was only so much they could do, and entering the sacred pyramid was not a privilege afforded them—they were warded out with everyone else, and the treasures that lie deep in it's depths were forbidden to them.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

Gazing at the magical map in front of him, Harry let his eyes wander over the constantly shifting seas and the cluster of islands he knew so well. King Riddle would have a conniption if he saw the complicated magical imprint Harry had in his possession thanks to the aid of Tracey. Not only did it let him see a more detailed and perfect replica of the continents even Riddle did not know the exactness of, but it allowed him to zone in on the British Navy and various trade routes.

With the power of the map, he could avoid running into enemy ships if he desired to—but what was the fun in that?

Nothing when he knew his arsenal of spells could penetrate through any protective ward Riddle had conjured thus far. Thanks to Harry's compatriots who were largely as inventive as he when it came to spellwork, they'd come up with a variety of damaging spells that could rip through and decimate Riddle's shields into nothingness.

He rather liked having the opportunity to use them.

"Are you looking at those tiny ships again?" Tracey asked, her lips pressed in a petulant line. "I swear to Poseidon, you're obsessed with this map—as much as you are with the compass."

"I'm just making sure none of our ships are going to run into a situation they can't handle," he explained, leaning against the stone railing of the outdoor atrium. From this viewpoint, he could see all of New Godric's Hollow on both sides of the river. It was probably his favorite spot on the island and the best potential place to weave the new bit of magic he'd been learning about if he had any guess.

"We only have, what, three out?"

"Four," he corrected her. "That one there," he turned and pointed to a ship right next to Aruba, "is Sirius and Minnie's vessel. Then these two heading east are Ronald and Bill's."

"Making a stop at Old Godric's?"

Harry nodded, content to see they were far from any other ship that could be tied with the enemy.

"What about that one?" She pointed to a ship close to South New World, dotting along the coastline but still within view. "Is that Reg's ship, there? I wish you'd let me go with him and Cho." Her tone turned accusatory. "You let Justin go."

"They're just scoping out the coastline, taking more spectral imprints to add detail to the map. Besides, I'm really curious about that area and Justin's actually been working there, so he can help."

"Still, I could have used the excitement."

"Still having dreams?"

Tracey's face turned suddenly serious. "Every night." She swallowed audibly and then seemed to shake the notion away. "So you see why I could use a bit of fun."

"They're under explicit instructions not to be seen. It's just an information-seeking mission; not very risky."

"Then with Sirius and Minnie." She crossed her arms over her chest in a huff. "Those two are always a riot."

"Not with Ronald and Bill?" he jested.

"Too many Weasley's in much too small a space." She stepped onto the edge of the stone wall, making Harry tense with worry at how dangerously close she was into falling to the river below. "Aruba would be my choice."

"Circe doesn't like you," he reminded her none too nicely.

Tracey gave a flippant shrug of her shoulders. "There's a lot of people I don't like, but I work with them just the same. She's probably not there anyway."

"Probably," he begrudgingly agreed. "Out _traveling_ again."

Tracey glanced around at the open stone enclosure that housed the map. "What makes you think this is such a great place to perform the spell, anyway?"

"The inherent magical energy." He sighed, couldn't Tracey feel it? "You need some place where the force of it is strong. They're often cut through fairy knolls, most commonly, but also ancient places that have a residual magical linger, like this one."

"Do you really think Circe would help you? She strikes me as the sort that likes to play both sides."

"She helped us with the bindings, didn't she? I'm just not sure how to catch her."

"She does have a knack for disappearing into thin air."

Harry nodded, his eyes falling to the map again. There was a ship leaving Aruba that wasn't Sirius'. If he had to guess, he'd say it was a small trading vessel and it seemed to be bound for England. It was still leagues away from Ron and Bill, but it had been disturbingly close to Sirius and Minnie.

Odd.

He'd have to ask them about it when they returned. Meanwhile, he turned to the ancient tome in his lap, hoping that Tracey would be quick about casting a cushioning charm when she inevitably fell. Right now, he wanted to learn more about Residual Magic.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

To say Malfoy Manor was grand was a gross understatement.

The mansion was beautiful to behold. From the formidable structure to the opulent gardens, the place _screamed galleons_ , and Hermione had to duck her head several times lest she be caught openly gaping.

Ever since stepping foot back in England only hours before, and then being swiftly Apparated to the most luxurious home in all of Wiltshire, Hermione had been in a state of paralyzed astonishment. Even the eight-day passage back to Britain had not prepared her for the culture shock.

The Malfoy grounds were lavish and spacious, but she missed the openness of the island. In a stark comparison of the filthy streets of London, the air here was breathable and perfumed, but she longed for the scent of the ocean mingled with wild flowers. The place was beautiful and impeccably decorated, but it did not hold a Lumos to the natural beauty from which she came. In a moment of clarity, she realized the island with no name had become her home, _her first real home_ , and she was painstakingly homesick.

"We acquired two more albino peacocks while you were gone," Lord Malfoy drawled loftily, continually pointing things out here and there to his son. "We've spruced up the place for Solstice season. We'll be hosting several parties and a dinner or two."

"I imagine that's all rather costly," Draco said stiffly, eyes trained ahead.

Hermione remembered a rushed moment where they had packed a few things from their camp. Mostly, they left all their carefully crafted utensils and items that had helped them survive, but they hadn't forgotten the Firecrab shell with it's rare gems embedded on the hard surface. She imagined that would certainly come in handy here, especially with his parent's clear pension for the extravagance. As tense as things were since boarding the horrible ship and facing the unknown, and as numb as the entire ordeal had caused her to feel, she still possessed the awareness to feel sorry for Draco. It was obvious to her that he carried a huge burden on his shoulders.

She was plagued with her own worries.

It was rather daunting to go from sweet freedom to virtual slavery in a matter of days. For weeks, several months, even, she'd been treated like an equal. She'd never known such respect, but it was something she'd gotten used to rather quickly. It seemed _right._ How was she ever going to be content thrust right back into the role of a scullery maid?

She wasn't.

Simply put, this glimpse into Draco's world of extravagance would be pure torture for her, she was sure of it. Lord Malfoy had mentioned the Solstice season, how many dinner parties would she be compelled to serve? Her hands balled into fists. Merlin, but witches would probably be competing for his attentions! The thought made her suddenly nauseous. How would she suffer it? Her magic bristled irritably at the disturbing notion.

Sweet Morgana, she'd have to be a bloody Saint to get through this and still keep her sanity.

As they passed through the oversized doors and into the high vaulted entry way, Hermione could not help feeling intimidated by the place. The decorations were garish and dazzling. She felt immediately out of place in such a home. Even the Hornby's didn't enjoy such wealth. _Second only to the King, most likely._ The Malfoys really did have King Riddle's favor.

They were met by a woman so strikingly beautiful, Hermione couldn't help but stare before she remembered herself and demurely ducked her head.

"Draco," the woman cried, before walking briskly to where he stood and throwing her arms around him, her elegant dress trailing on the polished wood floor. "Son, I feared you for dead."

That beautiful woman was Draco's mother? She hardly looked old enough to have bore a son his age. It figured—it now made all the sense in the world how he was so devastatingly handsome. Even his horrid father was easy on the eyes so long as he wasn't sneering, which was rare. _They must be a family of Veelas._

"Mother," he pulled away to greet her. "I've missed you."

She did not pull her eyes away from his face as she spoke. "Lucius, I can't believe you actually managed to find him. Where have you been all this time, Draco?"

"My ship was attacked by Potter."

Lady Malfoy's face twisted in a scowl.

"We weren't prepared for the type of curses they used. He tore the ship in two, and I was hit with a stunner. It's only thanks to Hermione that I was pulled from the water. She managed to secure a raft and we drifted to a small island."

Her eyes drifted to where Hermione stood quietly, eyes trained low to the ground.

"This is who saved you?" Lady Malfoy inquired with an edge of distaste. "A Muggle slave?"

Draco nodded solemnly. "That's right. Without a wand I was forced to survive the Muggle way; living off of the land and such."

Relief flooded Lady Malfoy's features. She finally pulled away from her son and turned to face Hermione. "Girl," she beckoned imperiously.

Hermione looked up blankly, her posture rigid. "Milady."

"Though you only did what is in your nature, _to serve,_ I still am appreciative you helped my son." She eyed her shrewdly and Hermione got the distinct impression she was being evaluated. Lady Malfoy did not strike her as an idiot, perhaps she was wondering what else had transpired on the island her son had disappeared to for several months.

"It was my duty," Hermione responded stoically.

Lady Malfoy looked back to her son. "I imagine you have grown attached to her and would wish to keep her?"

"I would." Draco's jaw tightened before he spoke again. "She has been very useful to me and it's difficult to come by good help."

Lady Malfoy seemed to expect such an answer. "A house servant, then?"

"I believe she would be well-suited for the position."

The striking witch nodded her understanding. "I can accept that." She turned to face Hermione again and she forced herself not to recoil at the force of such an intense stare. "But you must continue to prove useful to serve in my manor, girl. I do not tolerate laxidazakalness in my house slaves."

"Yes, milady." Hermione curtseyed slightly, dropping her eyes as she did so. A sick feeling welled up in her stomach and she had to swallow back the bile that was encroaching up her throat.

The family continued to talk as if she wasn't there. Draco's time away was a huge topic of interest. His parents wanted to know what he ate and where he slept. Draco wanted to know about his crew, whom his father informed him, had sustained heavy losses but some had managed to survive. Hermione could hardly tune into what they were saying, consumed by dark thoughts.

She was struck by the strange urge to slink into the shadows and blend into the walls. She was so glaringly out of place, she felt her cheeks tinge with shame at the realization. As much as she tried to halt the insidious thoughts, she couldn't help but start to see Draco in a new light. This was his home. Where he lived! They were so drastically at odds in Society, it was hard not to think about it. How had she ever forgotten for a second?

What if Draco was thinking about it now? Their connection on the island had been nothing short of magical, but Hermione wasn't _foolish_. She was the only girl in Malfoy's immediate vicinity, of course, he would be drawn to her. They'd been marooned together for _weeks,_ it stood to reason they would seek each other out. But now? As much as she hated to entertain the bitter idea, she couldn't help but think it had all been a mistake, a fleeting fancy on his part. He was bloody royalty and could have any number of prestigious witches at his beck and call. How on earth was she to compare with that? Her in her plain clothes, with her plain features, and lowly blood. He'd called her beautiful, he'd sang her praises, but perhaps he'd been tinged by the sun. There was no way whatever had transpired between them on the island could follow them here.

"The house servants stay in the cellar," Lord Malfoy informed her rather arrogantly. "Look for Mina, she's in charge and will direct you in your tasks."

Hermione felt a cold lump of fear form in the pit of her stomach at the blatant order she was so unused to hearing. She ducked her head and responded with a meek _Yes, Milord_.

This was her life now.

She had to accept the fact that she was back at the bottom where she'd just started to feel she'd climbed up from. She wasn't even sure why she had persisted on leaving, on taking down the ward. The prospect of returning seemed foolish now. Yes, there were people oppressed, but how was she in any position to help? The best she could hope for was that Draco would take her back as he promised and she could escape the world, pretending as if none of the injustices existed as she lived her own ignorantly blissful life away from the tyranny that plagued Europe and was starting to invade the New World.

But even that seemed very unlikely.

Draco had expressed hopes his parents would leave with him. He'd seemed convinced he could extend the invitation and they would come willingly. Now that she was here and witnessed the Malfoy splendor first hand, she couldn't see how that was remotely a possibility. Who would give up everything to start over with nothing?

Doubt was a terrible thing, and once it reared it's ugly head in her mind, she was helpless to not feed into it.

 _I'm as common as a scullery maid. Forget using magic, forget reading books, the only thing in my immediate future is serving._ The thought of being so effectively cut off from her magic was the most crippling to her already knackered and frenzied mind. _I may have been better off with Potter the Pirate finding me._

No, that was just silly. She didn't mean that. She should have more faith in Draco. Hadn't she witnessed his transformation with her very eyes? From sneering disdain to loving praise? He wouldn't simply relapse into his former-prat-self by being reminded of where he came from. He was stronger than that and he'd _changed._

She located the cellar and entered the busy room teeming with servants and even what looked to be a house elf-a creature known to be rare and endangered. Of course, the Malfoys would have.

 _I just need to keep my eyes open, see if there are others like me. If there is a resistance in Britain, that means there is hope and something to fight for._ Hermione clenched her jaw in determination and continued into the room with a newfound resolve. She would not let the dark thoughts poison her hope. She had a mission, and she needed to at least give it a sporting chance.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

Draco sat tensely in his chair as he watched with hollow eyes as dinner was brought to him. The smell of expensive meat mingled with the sweet scent of pudding and freshly baked bread permeated the air, but he could hardly summon an appetite.

He'd reconciled with his parents and with his grandfather, and he was now seated at their overly large table about to indulge in a feast, but he couldn't help being troubled. All during the voyage and then since reaching Wiltshire and his home, he'd been plagued with an ominous feeling that only seemed to intensify with time.

He was worried about Hermione.

Draco was unused to seeing her so _quiet._ It felt eerie and _wrong_. She was a strong and powerful witch who deserved the right to flex that power. Seeing her subjected to servitude once more brought a bitter taste to his mouth. How would she cope with the other servants? How would he find opportunities to pull her aside and reassure her? The manor was large, but there were so many watchful eyes, from portraits hanging on the walls to his family that didn't seem to want to let him out of his sight.

What was more, he would soon need to meet with King Riddle.

They'd already received response via Owl that Draco was to report to Court first thing in the morning. He would have to account for his time away and keep the powerful Occlumens from seeing all that had transpired while he was away. If the King decided on doing a full Legilimency spell, Draco would be hard-pressed to control the thoughts he thrust at him, but he _would have to find the strength to._

And then what?

He had a sneaking suspicion of what would happen next. If Riddle found no fault in him, he would surely ask him to take his grandfather's place as Chancellor. Draco would be in no place to decline. That meant a majority of his time would be swept up by Court. It was the last place he wanted to be.

He wanted to visit Zabini and Nott. He'd been overjoyed to hear they'd survived. Why Potter didn't kill them was mind-boggling, but he was far too pleased at the news to expound on the why of it.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of tinkling glass. He looked up to see his mother had lifted her Champagne flute in the air and was poising it towards him.

"A toast," she exclaimed happily. "To my son and his safe return. May life bring you nothing but success and happiness."

His grandfather and father joined in, with mumbles of agreement. Draco raised his glass and drowned it in one drink. The sweet spirit didn't even burn as it went down. He looked to his food and speared the seasoned potatoes with his fork, forcing down a bite. He could hardly taste the flavor to appreciate it.

"Will Miss Greengrass be returning?" Lucius asked, directing the question to Narcissa.

"She's staying with the Parkinson's in Brighton during Solstice season, but I can Owl her to let her know of the wonderful news." His mother smiled brightly. "She will be so pleased to know you have returned."

"I don't see how that's any of my concern," Draco angrily gritted out. "I'd prefer my company limited at the moment."

He felt instantly speared by sharp blue eyes. "Draco," her tone was mildly chiding, "we'd already made arrangements with her family for Miss Greengrass to stay during Solstice. When you didn't return, she decided to stay with friends, but now I see no reason to revoke the invitation?"

"Perhaps because I've just come back from quite the traumatic adventure, and I could use some solace."

Her eyes hardened. "You'll have to get over it, won't you? The King will not tolerate this _solace._ "

Draco clenched his teeth angrily. The last thing he wanted was to be forced in the insufferable presence of Astoria Greengrass. That had been one perk of being away from Wiltshire; missing all his mother's diabolical marriage plans. How was he to endure it? The balls, the dinner parties, the madness that accompanied Solstice made him want to gag with revulsion. All the political and social wheelings and dealings made him nauseous. The hell if he would be caught up in them.

He immediately straightened from his seat. "I would like to retire for the evening as I have an early morning at Court." He summoned a servant standing against the wall, an action that had become foreign to him. "I'll take the remainder of meal in my chambers."

"But you've barely touched your food," his mother argued.

Lucius dared to look aghast. "You're upsetting your mother."

Draco suppressed an eye roll. That was the least of his concerns.

Abraxas' eyes sparkled with mischief. "You've yet to fully regale us in tales from your weeks on an uncharted island."

"That will have to wait until tomorrow, I'm afraid." Draco inclined his head slightly. "Mother, Father, Grandfather, I wish you a pleasant evening."

He whirled to leave despite the gasp of displeasure that escaped his mother's mouth.

The ominous feeling was increasing in the pit of his stomach and he needed to be rid of his inquisitive family, regardless of how well-meaning they were. He exited the dining room and made his way to the stairs. He longed for his chambers—it had been a while since he'd been there and since he'd slept in a proper bed.

His thoughts wandered to Hermione once more. How was she finding her shared quarters with the servants? He needed to speak with her, preferably before he was whisked away to Court. She needed assurance and to know he would keep her safe. If he thought the social games that came with Solstice season irritating, he could only imagine how she would feel, being compelled to serve all the haughty Purebloods who entered the manor. He wished he could simply keep her from dealing with any of it at all, but that would be more suspicious than if she simply acted the part. As much as it pained him, there was no easy way out and they would both be forced to play their respective parts.

On the second floor, he noticed a servant hunched over and polishing the banister. At first, he didn't recognize her in her grey uniform and with her hair tied back, but he felt an instant pull and knew without a doubt that it was _her._

"Hermione," he hissed, towering above her.

She looked up in alarm, before awareness registered in her chocolate gaze. "Master Draco."

Again he felt repulsed by the title. When had his title ever made him feel uncomfortable? When had he even noticed servants who were constantly found working inside the manor? Never before now. He glanced around, noticing nothing but a portrait snoring softly on the wall. "Hermione," he said again, pulling her up. "We need to talk."

She let him haul her further down the corridor and then inside his personal chambers. He reached for his mother's wand, instantly purging the darkness when he cast bluebell flames, then spun her around to face him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," came the automatic reply.

"I'm worried about you," he informed her honestly. "I know this is quite the shift."

"Quite," she agreed, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

He was interrupted by a knock on the door and pushed her gently aside so she wouldn't be seen. He mumbled his thanks to the servant that brought his dinner and quickly shut the door, taking the food and placing it on the table himself.

He motioned to her. "Eat."

She walked tentatively towards the small table and chairs. "I've already had my evening meal."

His featured flooded with disgust. "That mush? I want you to have something better than that."

Reluctantly, she nodded. "All right." She sat down primly on the chair and lifted the lid off of the plate, peering down at what he offered. "Steak?" She lifted his eyes to his.

He swallowed. "Didn't I promise you'd try it one day?"

She cut a piece and took a careful nibble before swallowing it down. "It'svery good."

Unable to stand still, he paced around the room, running a shaky hand through his bedraggled hair. "I have to meet with King Riddle tomorrow. He'll be wanting me to account for my time away, explain how I survived, report on my experience with Potter and his forces."

She nodded. "Yes, that's no surprise to us."

"No," he agreed. "And if he finds my story pleasing, he will probably extend the position of Chancellor to me. I will not be permitted to refuse."

"You should act grateful for the opportunity."

"I know." He stopped pacing and deposited himself roughly down on the seat across from her. "It will mean increased time away from here...away from you."

Hermione met his gaze with a decidedly fiery one of her own. It made him feel much better to see a glimpse of the girl he'd come to know. "It will also mean exclusive knowledge on the opposition."

She brought up a valid point.

Though Draco was not sure he wanted to risk anything for a cause that seemed so hopeless. "Yes. I will learn all I can about them. I'd always thought the Potter Rebellion reckless and self-serving, but perhaps there is more I'm unaware of. They did let two of my closest friends go, unscathed save a memory charm. That alone is reason enough to reconsider their actions."

"Potential allies?"

"I'm not sure." He balled his hands into fists. "I know some of the people that went over to Potter's side, not all Muggle-borns, but some Purebloods too. I always thought them barmy, even in school."

"It's worth finding out more."

"Is it?" His voice took on an earnest tone. "I'm not sure I want to risk it...to risk our chance of getting out of here. I think we should focus all of our energy on leaving before looking into something that has the risk of being noticed."

Hermione sighed and placed her fork down. "I think you should try to gain information before you focus your efforts on leaving again. We've already risked a lot."

He couldn't argue with that. Their decision to come here was reason enough to at least try to learn more, so long as he didn't incite suspicion whilst doing it. He owed it to her to find out if there were others like herself, and what Potter was doing with the Muggle-borns he captured. Were they happy to serve him? The way they were able to outmaneuver Riddle's own fleets suggested that the opposition worked well together.

"I will find out what I can," he relented, "but the minute I feel that we are in danger, we are escaping."

"What about your family?"

"I may have to take them against their will. They would have a lot to say initially, but without their wands they are harmless, and if they stay in England, they would only be at risk from King Riddle."

She nodded. "All right," she said tremulously. "Meanwhile, I'm sure I can behave like a proper servant."

Draco's lips twisted in a smirk. "They have no idea what a powerful witch you are." Hermione was really magnificent, and if it wasn't so terrifying, the situation would be almost comical. "But we have to play our parts, lest we arouse suspicion." He evaluated her silently, gauging her reaction. "Still, if anything happens, blast it all, I want you to come to me immediately. I can't suffer the idea of you being hurt."

She smiled softly. "Of course, Draco, but I shall try to disturb you very little. You have enough of a burden to bear."

"You are _not a burden_."

She drew up from her chair, laying the linen napkin carefully on the table. "I better leave. The other servants already think me lucky to have secured such a sought after house position, apparently. I don't want to make them anymore suspicious by not doing my work."

Straightening from his seat, he was directly in front of her in three short strides. His hands immediately found her hips, and he pulled her closer. "Be very careful, and trust no one when I am away." He let his head fall forward, taking strength from the feel of her forehead against his.

"I'll speak to no one," she agreed, wrapping her arms around his waist.

It was so comforting to have her safely in his arms, _so familiar._ But he knew the feeling could not last, as much as he wanted her to stay with him the entire night, they still had to keep up the appearance of him being her master and her being his servant. _Not for long,_ he silently vowed. _I'll keep my ear out for rebel activity, but we will not stay here for long._

 **~oOo*oOo~**


	13. Chapter 13: Faery Knoll

**A/N: So kind of crazy but I was looking at my outline and saw that there were about ten chapters left, like, WOW! I can't believe the story is over halfway through. There is so much more to tell in the next few chapters. Now the action will be picking up. If I focused on this story alone, I could probably finish it in two and a half months? But then what about AUE! To say nothing of my other WIP's and two plunnies that are just begging to be written. I'm torn and have been focusing on two at a time, but I'm trying to find more writing time C: Shout out to Camp Nano 2017 chat for helping me along! I love writing with so many lovely and talented writers. I hope you enjoy this chapter, it's so far the longest that I've written for Shipwrecked so maybe that will make up for the update delay? Thanks to everyone that has been encouraging me along the way with your follows, favorites, reviews, and pm's!**

 **Beta Love to: RooOJoy XxX**

 **Thanks for the wonderful reviews! :** **pgoodrichboggs, EStrunk, Frogster, pierrej92, hugabunny12, the3littlewords, riddlesgurl86, chibi-Clar, I was BOTWP, MrsKKFWDarcy, Mistress DragonFlame, marzipan4, Anonymous Presence, bennettfan84, Maloreiy,** **and the guests!**

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 **~oOo*oOo~**

"Through _Muggle means_?" The question was phrased with a hint of doubt mingled in the words.

Draco hovered lightly in his chair - the picture of ease - the picture of someone who had _nothing_ to hide. "Yes, Excellency. I was forced to resort to more primitive ways in my efforts to survive."

King Riddle slanted his eyes over to assess Draco intently. "Do you not possess even a lick of wandless magic?"

In the past, Draco may have bristled over such a question, but today he found it easy to swallow his pride. "I confess, at first my wandless magic was non-existent, but after days spent on the beach—."

"—Two and a half months," came the interruption.

"Yes, Excellency. During that time I've been able to learn certain things, small charms and such. An Incendio comes in handy out there. A binding charm...a cutting hex...it doesn't work everytime, but I was able to perform _some_ magic."

The King's eyebrows rose in carefully erected approval. "How charming." He sat back in the oversized chair, obsidian eyes never leaving Draco's face. "And how did you manage to pull yourself from the wreckage?"

Draco swallowed discreetly as he prepared to launch into his carefully-crafted story, the one he had lay awake thinking about. "I was drowning...I came up sputtering for air but there was nothing to hold on to. I just saw the sail of my ship sinking quite a distance away, Potter's ship even further. There were small parts of the vessel floating in the water, but nothing big enough to hold onto. I struggled for a good hour before I saw it. There was a float...a door to the lower chambers that could serve as a raft...one of the Muggle prisoners was lying on it, but I found it did not sink when I climbed on."

"Why did you not just push them into the water?"

"I would have, should I have needed to, should I have _had the strength_ , but by the time I came to the next morning, there was already land in sight."

"I see. So you kept the Muggle to serve you?"

Draco nodded. "I put her in her proper place. And this one could cook and gather supplies which I found useful."

King Riddle never missed a beat. "Comely?"

Alarm bells rang in Draco's head. If he were to simply deny her allure altogether, that would probably incite the King's suspicion more. It would be better for him and for her if he admitted that he'd succumbed to the temptation of having a warm-bodied woman in his figurative bed. He was young and virile, it would be suspicious if he _hadn't_ have taken advantage of the situation. It was a social faux-pas to do such a thing, but not uncommon for Pureblood men to engage in sexual activities with their Muggle servants. "Passable, Excellency."

The King smiled widely, displaying perfect rows of white teeth. "I would like to see for myself...assess all that you've said, routine—of course, if you're not opposed to it?" He'd phrased the question delicately, but Draco knew it was more of a demand than an actual request.

"Of course, Your Highness."

This had been what Draco had prepared for. He knew ever since landing back on British shores that he would need to present his mind in a show of good faith. Draco was a natural Occlumens, yet traditional Occlumency would not be what saved him, but rather a variation of it.

The King did not bother with raising his wand, he instead looked him straight in the eyes, the intensity of his gaze doubling in an alarming sort of way. Draco forced his body relaxed and did not tear his eyes away even though he wished badly to. When the potent curse hit him, it was not as brutal as Draco had expected it to be, but rather executed with careful precision. Draco wanted desperately to shut his mind down and away from the probing and foreign presence sifting through his brain, but he was careful to remain compliant. He let the King select memory after memory, flicking through them like the pages of a book. Though it seemed to the King that he was the one in control, it was Draco that decided just which memories to bring to the surface.

He only called upon memories that were non-implicating. Mostly dull activities, daily chores, and perhaps snide comments from the beginning of his and Hermione's time together. When King Riddle grew more insistent in his searchings, Draco called forth any memories that could be construed as him acting cruel towards Hermione. When the King seemed to grow bored with this and continued to sift through the images with single-minded focus, Draco gave him what he was looking for—times where he and Hermione were engaged in intimate activities—but he was careful to conceal anything that could be viewed as tender and only showed the times where he was at his most intense. It was easy to allow the King to see their rescue, as him and Hermione had fallen into a performance for his father anyway.

Draco resisted the urge to gasp for air when the King finally receded from his mind. But when he saw the King, dark eyes boring into him with a frightening gleam that hadn't been there before, Draco grew wary once more. What had he seen? Draco was so careful to conceal anything that implicated him or Hermione. There was no magic...no conversations...he had shut it all down, certainly everything philosophical and anything could be construed as _kind._

The King continued to stare him down and it was all Draco could do to keep from grabbing his wand or bolting from the room altogether. A deep, unsettling feeling formed in the pit of his stomach and he grew more nauseous by the moment.

"The girl," King Riddle said in a tone that could almost be described as haunting, "you respected her. She was not just a nameless Muggle to you?"

Raw, terror rang through him at the King's words. It was everything Draco could do to keep from retching all over the polished wooden table. Instead, he forced a laugh up his throat. It was dark and chilling to his ears, slightly grating, but the best he could manage. "Respect? I'm not sure I would go that far. She wasn't _nameless_ to me, I will admit. She was my only companion and therefore our relationship may have been closer than your average master and slave, but," he chuckled once more, despite the fear that gripped him, "now I am _home,_ and I have real people to consort with."

The King steepled his fingers under his chin with an expression that could only be described as pensive. "She seemed... _different._ Not like the others, more _aware._ "

 _Fuck._ Draco's pulse pounded at his temples as he tried to rein in the alarm that flared hotly inside his chest. "She is slightly different, but if anything it makes her a more competent slave. She can anticipate what I need next, be it due to her being slightly more intelligent, I'm not sure...but it works in my favor."

What had the King seen? Had he seen Hermione through Draco's eyes, through rose-colored lenses Draco now saw her through, or was the King coming to the conclusion that Hermione was special on his own? Draco wasn't sure, but he didn't like it. He thought it was he that was supposed to be on trial here, and not that Hermione would be coming in the equation.

Time seemed to stretch impossibly long, and Draco became aware of every second before the King finally - _blessedly_ \- broke the silence.

He let out a raucous laugh. "Draco, it seems as though you had quite the wild time - an adventure - and one I must admit I am a bit envious of."

Relief flooded through Draco at the realization the King was dropping the subject of Hermione... _for now._ Was it possible King Riddle bought what Draco was trying to sell? Or was the stealthy royal simply biding his time? Draco couldn't be sure, but he would not let his guard down.

"That being said, I think you will agree—you've had quite enough time to sow your oats, to galavant around the world following the beat of your own tune—it's time you focus your energies elsewhere."

He didn't bother reminding the King that his 'gallivanting' had proved quite the lucrative endeavor for the Crown. Draco had expected this - had _even hoped for_ \- this Draco could deal with. "Absolutely, Excellency. I have skirted my duties for far too long and am ready to offer my services to the crown, in any capacity you see fit."

The King smiled broadly at him. "Very good. I was hoping you would come to such an epiphany." King Riddle got up from his chair and began pacing around the opulent chambers. "I would like for you to take up the post of Chancellor. Your grandfather has held the position for long enough, and it is time that he passed it to someone younger. I hope you will not object?"

"Not at all, Excellency," Draco answered smoothly, recovering for the moment. He could panic later when he was away from prying eyes over his earlier slip.

"Wonderful. As it happens, I have a mission in mind. I have still to meet with several people, but I feared your dear father would not be fit to handle the task."

The King pressed his lips in a frown, carefully erected worry marring his forehead. Draco didn't buy the act for a second and wondered at his jaded outlook where the King was concerned. No doubt it was Hermione's words influencing him. They screamed _truth_ and he was even more wary of Riddle than ever before. He had no doubt that the King would have forced his father on whatever _mission_ without a second thought.

"You'll be happy to know you'll be reunited with your friends - Zabini and Nott - who have recovered from their near death experience and are fit to rejoin you. You may report to Macnair tomorrow on the details, but for now, I wish for you to enjoy the Solstice activities. Your parents our hosting the first of the parties tonight, are they not?"

"Winter Solstice Ball, Excellency, and dinner the following evening."

"Wonderful. I'm sure our paths will cross."

Draco wasn't sure if it was a warning or a threat. He gladly retreated from the King's chambers and made his way through the court and the exit. On his way out, he saw a markedly gruffer looking Thorfinn Rowle who may have greeted him when he passed, but Draco was not sure if he had returned the greeting, far too focused as he was on determining what mission the King had sent him on, and if the mission would interfere with Draco's own plans.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

The luxurious Chesterfield sofa was a sanctuary compared to the tiny vessel he had magically forced across the sea in record time.

Thorfinn hadn't slept in five days, and was almost delusional by the time he had made it back to London. He'd had no choice but to crash in a flat above the Leaky Cauldron before he could so much as drag himself to Rowle manor. He'd slept for twenty-four hours and hadn't even awoke to take a piss.

He was tired and drained.

But if he were to sleep aboard the ship, the unfavorable winds would have floated the vessel off course. He'd had no choice but to stay awake and magically cut through the winds to stay on the course he needed to be. It had drained him so irrevocably, he'd been concerned he may have lost some of his magic permanently. It was a silly thought, of course, but he was running on nothing but an Enervate to keep him awake, and the false energy burned through him quickly.

By the time he returned home and reunited with his mother, she was so concerned about him meeting with the King right away, he barely had time to shower, forget shaving, and was compelled to return to Court looking about as exhausted as he felt. He hadn't caught up on sleep by half, and worried he would not even be able to mutter a quick _Accio,_ let alone do the complicated magic required of a Praetor. What was more, he'd yet to reunite with his intended...until _now._

What would Daphne say when she found out the news? She was a proper-Pureblood lady of good standing and that she would be forced into this horror Thorfinn had been sure he would never willingly return to, was enough to cause his throat to fill with bile.

She would _hate_ him for it.

Thorfinn did not know her _so_ well, despite being in the same house at school. The two were separated by four years and he'd only just begun to see her as the woman - the witch - she had so recently become. She was nineteen and freshly out of Hogwarts, and if she hadn't performed so well in Ancient Runes, he was sure the King would never have selected her.

The King.

Anger threaded through him at the thought of King Riddle. He'd tried to suppress it before, tried to dismiss it as quickly as it entered his mind, but he realized more than ever that he truly hated the King. It was all he'd been able to do, with his mind so battered and abused, to keep from letting the King see his true feelings when he ripped through his mind.

The King saw _everything_ that Thorfinn had endured.

The memory of the stench of death hung heavily in the air, but the only thing Thorfinn was able to register on the King's face as he pulled out of his mind was a certain _longing,_ a greedy gleam that hadn't been there before. It was alive and palpable before the King's face transformed into bored indifference, and then into mock pity.

" _I'm sorry for what you had to go through. It will be different this time."_

 _This time? So he was returning? And how soon would he be required to?_

" _I see now that I must send the best and only the best. As Praetor, I will befit you with amulets for every member of your team." The greedy look mingled with fierce determination returned briefly, disappearing as soon as Thorfinn saw it. "I'll send Macnair to Azkaban to procure them immediately. Everyone will have them if that's what it takes...even if I must lay waste to all the Mudbloods to accomplish this."_

 _The return of cold indifference. The King's gaze was hard and calculating._

 _Thorfinn could not even bring himself to beg for time, or plead for rest. He knew it would be senseless to do so anyway._

" _You need to bring me that which is mine."_

"Lord Rowle!"

Thorfinn was jolted from his musings by the sound of that musical voice. He hauled himself up from his seat, but felt like he'd been hit with a Daphne-shaped bludger and was forced down immediately. Her scent assaulted him - _floral and fresh_ \- he breathed her in deeply. His hands found soft, feminine curves and sought purchase in them, holding her tightly to him as she held him fiercely, her slim arms wrapping around his neck.

"Daphne," he breathed, saying her given name in a very ungentlemanly fashion.

"Thorfinn," she ventured tremulously.

The sound of his name on her lips called forth an all new sort of heat that had nothing to do with anger. He buried his face in her hair, unable to get enough of her scent. He'd only smelled, ate, and drank salt for days and Daphne currently was the only cure to be rid of the wretched taste.

She was seated on his lap, her soft curves melding to his hard ridges, and Thorfinn could hardly focus. Not on the prospect of her mother returning, or of the heavy news he would need to deliver.

There was only Daphne, his sweet witch, and he realized he needed her like he needed air to breathe.

She was nuzzling his neck, threading her fingers through his shaggy hair, apparently unconcerned with the course growth on his cheeks that must be scratching her. The knowledge that she had waited for him, that she was excited for his return, made his heart sing—before he was quickly reminded of reality.

He dug his fingers into her hips, and with tremendous willpower, lifted her off of him. "Daphne." He looked away, unable to break the news whilst he stared into depthless golden eyes. "Lady Greengrass, I must apologize for my actions."

"You didn't do anything," she stressed. "I'm so happy to see you, please…" She reached for him again, but he stepped away.

"I've just come from the King, and I need to speak to you."

She grabbed his forearm earnestly, her fingers tightening like a vice. "Come to my room, we will speak about it there." She didn't wait for confirmation that he would obey, but rather tugged him insistently towards the stairs and up the spiral staircase. "Whatever it is," she said in a hushed whisper. "You mustn't worry about telling me—I _won't be_ angry."

He felt something suspiciously like hope begin to well in his chest. Thorfinn let her lead him, helpless to deny the witch. He was beginning to think there was far more to Daphne Greengrass than he had first imagined. Not only was she beautiful, but there was a fierce spark of determination he hadn't noticed before. Perhaps she was stronger than she looked.

She quickly and deftly cast a _Muffliato_ and _Colloportus_ on the door she pulled him through and then spun to face him. "What news do you bring?"

Daphne was a vision.

Flushed from running up the stairs, her cheeks were stained pink and her chest was heaving in short and shallow pants. Her gown wasn't as large and puffed out as some witches preferred theirs to be. Hers was simple and form fitting, accentuating her natural curves. Her hair was free of pins and hung loosely around her shoulders, framing her heart shaped face. Blue eyes collided with golden brown ones, and he couldn't help the words that tumbled from his mouth.

He told her everything.

From the start of the doomed mission, to his impossible trip back home, to the meeting with the King and his _new_ mission. She waited patiently, nodding in understanding from time to time. She even sat him gently on the cedar chest that sat at the foot of her bed. It was so easy to speak to Daphne, there was only warmth and compassion in her eyes. When he was finished, he half expected her to panic, even though she had not displayed any characteristics of being the panicking sort—she was so different from the witches he knew!

"It's all right, Thorfinn." She placed a hand on his shoulder, sliding minutely closer. "I don't mind, truly."

Her smile took him so off guard, he found himself gaping at her.

"You're tired, and you need to rest," she continued, concern flickering through her golden orbs. "Don't worry about the mission now. There is still time."

"But haven't you heard what I've said? You've been summoned to join me. I could care less about the others, but you - a _female_ \- it's completely _wrong._ "

"It's not wrong," she declared hotly. "An answer to my prayers, really. Sweet Morgana, but I begged day and night for something like this. Really Thorfinn, I couldn't be happier. Do you really think I wish to stay at home? I studied so hard in school because learning is important to me. I like figuring out problems and I want to help you."

Surprise flooded his features. Had he really been so lucky to have been placed with Daphne? How truly fortuitous. She was so headstrong and _brave,_ something he had not known about her before. All the more reason to protect her.

"I worry about the amulets." She sat back, staring off into space. "Did you know they were encased with power taken from Mudbloods? I—."

Thorfinn placed a finger to her lips, despite the charms placed on the room. "You mustn't say such things aloud. It's not safe, it _never_ is."

"All right." She sidled even closer to him, and rested her cheek on his shoulder. "Just tell me how I can help and I will."

"I think you're right. I need to rest. Just to clear my head a bit."

"There's a party tonight...at the Malfoys."

She raised her head and drew up to her knees, before reaching her fingers to tentatively stroke his neck. _Gods, her fingers are magical._

"My sister is already there." She threaded one hand through his hair and scratched at his scalp whilst the other continued to knead the tense flesh at his neck, coaxing it to the side. "We don't have to go. We can stay here."

She leaned her head down, brushing it against his cheek, and he couldn't help turning to kiss her fully. She happily opened up to him and it wasn't long before she had maneuvered onto his lap once more. Thorfinn _needed her._ She knew of his troubles and she accepted his mistakes. She was _perfect for him._ He would take care of her, and he wouldn't push her away again.

And if their kiss escalated, he didn't stop it.

And if they shut the rest of the world out and stayed in each other's arms, they would never tell anyone.

He slept soundly that night, and with fledging hope building in his heart. With Daphne by his side, perhaps there was a chance of success after all.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione hated it.

She hated _all of it._

Perhaps it was a combination of being treated worse than a non-sentient creature, or as if she were a part of the furniture, but she could not bring herself to like anything about Malfoy Manor, regardless of the gorgeous decorations that had been put up for Winter Solstice.

The season was upon them and it was impossible not to notice.

Hermione _did not want to notice_ the trees that had seemed to sprout up inside the manor. Who cared if they were adorned with faery lights and hovering little white flowers? The vines that curled along the stairwells were difficult to clean around. Once she was finished with that task, there was the ballroom to contend with. The well-lit and normally elegant room was transformed into something akin to whimsical. It was as if a forest were edging the room, and lining that were tables with fancy place settings and magical clusters of floating white roses.

The green Persian rug in the entryway had been vanished and Hermione had been commissioned the task of scrubbing and polishing the worn wood to an impossible bright sheen. Music from the enchanted harp floated to her ears as she worked, along with the sweet smell of air infused with incense. She didn't want that—she longed for the smell of natural incensed air...of wild flowers and the fresh sea breeze. It was stifling in the manor, and it didn't improve with the arrival of several haughty Purebloods who seemed to require constant attention. She counted herself fortunate that she was not one of the ones tending to them. How could she possibly feign knowing how to dress them? She wasn't apart of their world and had no clue what to do with so many corset strings, jewels, and ribbons. She was happily made busy doing other chores, and was not one of the ones assigned to the guests - _blessedly_ \- but she still grimaced whenever she heard them shouting orders.

Or whenever her mistress shouted orders.

It was worth noting that Lady Malfoy worked about just as hard as the rest of them. Perhaps she was not on the floor scrubbing, or teetering on ledges to clean bannisters, but she was busy casting all the decorating charms herself and - begrudgingly - doing a brilliant job of it. Hermione could tell it was taxing on the witch. When she looked through the strands of hair that had escaped her tightly wound bun, she saw Lady Malfoy wiping the perspiration on her brow with a handkerchief. It was clear the Malfoys had once had money, maybe not now as most of the things Hermione saw weren't new and were rather archaic, but they had once and Lady Malfoy was doing her best to keep the house and her treasured things immaculate.

What she lacked in tangible things, she made up for with her magical abilities. You would never know the state of the silverware or the fine china because Lady Malfoy was constantly mending them, seemingly having a charm for everything. Hermione would curiously watch Draco's mother when she wasn't looking and try to determine what charms she was using, but she never spoke them aloud.

The other servants would not be shown up by the Lady of the house and worked just as diligently. It was thanks to that alone that the manor had been transformed to look so stunning, if one called it that—Hermione preferred the term _wasteful._ For certainly all of the food that was being prepared in the kitchens would not possibly be consumed tonight. Hermione wasn't sure how the Malfoys could afford it. She'd heard Lord Malfoy complaining about his coffers and the elder Lord Malfoy commenting on the hit the Malfoy vault was taking. She surmised rather quickly that the King kept his subjects wanting.

Subjects that had everything grew lax, but ones who were denied would work harder for him. It was a genius tactic, really, but Hermione had to wonder why no one else had figured it out. She'd always been aware of the state of things living at the Hornby Manor, and had to admit the Malfoys did have _more,_ but it was still obvious to her that the taxes they paid were constantly being raised, and it was becoming difficult for Purebloods everywhere to afford their expensive lifestyles.

Hours later, the preparations were finally finished. Hermione wondered if that meant she would have the night off? The other servants were careful not to place her in the front of the house and for that she was grateful. They treated her oddly, with an almost healthy wariness, as if they faulted her for being apparently favored by the youngest Malfoy. Hermione paid them no mind, instead focusing her attentions on her duties and proving her worth that way. She was so clearly not at home here. She didn't know how to be a servant anymore and even if she were there as a free witch, she wouldn't know how to converse with people at such an extravagant affair. She preferred wide open spaces where she could be wild and free, so the sooner she could be done with her duties and pretend she was anywhere but here, the better.

Anything she could do to get the blasted day over with.

Hermione was not so blind that she didn't recognize the source of her uncharacteristic hate and general disagreeableness. She was only here to bide her time. Draco had been gone _all day_ \- luckily for him - and Hermione could only hope he'd discovered information useful to them. That coupled with the atrocious guests who were now teeming into the house and Hermione had reached the end of her rope. Nagging and very unwelcome thoughts had been creeping in her mind all day, spurred on by the constant chores and beckonings from her _superiors._ How could she ever have thought she could be treated as an equal among these people? It was so glaringly obvious that such a thing would _never_ happen. In this world, her only use was of that as a slave. All her life she had been made to feel - made to _believe -_ she was beneath everyone, and she was definitely starting to feel that way now. The strength and power she had felt on the island seemed to have been left there, and right now she was feeling like nothing more than a lowly servant. By day's end, she was ready to slink back to her quarters where she belonged and hopefully not be summoned until clean up duty the following day.

She was making her way to the cellar when a renegade cluster of flutterbies collided with her, and became rather abruptly tangled in her mess of a bun. She promptly swatted at the magical creatures, her anger brimming to the surface as she wanted nothing more than to magic the pests away.

"Damned insects," she muttered under her breath as she felt them digging into her hair, as if her bun really was some sort of nest. "Get _off_ of me."

The bugs did not listen, and she half wondered if she would have to endure them the entire evening, when she was suddenly happened upon by the eldest Malfoy, the one she'd dubbed _The Kind One._

"Oh dear me," said the old man. "Let me help you with that, child." He pointed his hornbeam wand straight at her head and Hermione resisted the urge to flinch, even knowing that he was not usually known for his cruelty. " _Evanesco._ "

The flutterbies abruptly vanished off of her head and she was gratefully free once more. "Thank you, my Lord." She curtseyed demurely.

Instead of dismissing her right away, he chuckled and Hermione glanced at him with widened eyes. After feeling borderline invisible for several days, it was odd to be noticed and spoken to as if she were someone worthy of being conversed with.

"You'll have to pardon my daughter in law's penchant for pesky decorative charms," he told her kindly. "She doesn't seem to realize how annoying they can be."

"It's no trouble, my Lord." Hermione shuffled her feet nervously, wishing the man would simply beck her to do something or let her be, rather than staring at her as if she were some interesting puzzle.

"You know," he said as if he had all day to converse with her. "Now that the party is starting, you can probably escape away to the gardens—just for a little bit—of course. No one would miss you, and it is quite lovely out there."

Hermione's face burst into shock, and the elder Malfoy merely chuckled in response before walking off towards the ballroom, a knowing glint in his eye. The man was strange to be sure. She often caught him looking her way, but as much as her mind told her to watch out for him, her heart said he was harmless, and her heart rarely led her astray. Truthfully, Hermione wanted nothing more but to get some fresh air. She was tired of being cooped up inside all day and the cellar was the last place she wanted to be.

Glancing left and right, she stepped towards the back exit and walked purposefully towards the gardens. The interior was not the only faction of the manor to undergo a transformation, the gardens were pristine and also lit by strategically placed faery lights. The trees and hedges were outlined by the golden glow and beyond that was a brightly lit pond, sparkling an impossible shade of blue. Hermione ducked behind the trees and the numerous flower hedges, in an effort to hide and use them for cover.

Through the arch and at the point where the gardens ended, a meadow started, revealing a place Hermione quite liked. It was different from the charmed gardens and the over decorated interior—it was more natural and free. A ways off, winged beasts that looked almost like horses grazed peacefully in the grass. Hermione wasn't sure what they were, but they looked almost reptilian or dragon-like. She was sure they were magical creatures of some sort. She sat down and rested her back lightly against the hedge, relishing the fresh air and the opportunity to get away from the world she clearly had no business in.

It was cold, and she tucked at the sleeves of her simple frock in a futile attempt to cover her wrists. She wished badly to perform a warming or elongation spell, but resisted the compulsion, lest she bring unnecessary attention to herself. It was worth the discomfort to be away from commands for a few welcome moments. She might have even dozed off, if it weren't for the swirling, glittering, sparkle that caught her attention in the distance.

Furrowing her brows in curiosity, she drew up from her seated position, her legs deciding to move before she gave them permission to. She walked tentatively closer to where she saw the anomaly, just a random bump in an otherwise normal meadow. Once she got closer, she realized there wasn't really anything special about it. The strange thing she witnessed must have been merely a trick in the starlight, it was only a common faery knoll, if not rather small. The glow from the enchanted gardens didn't quite span the distance. Shrugging, she nearly turned to leave, when something once more caught her attention.

The air shimmered around the grassy knoll, expanding and flaring out so sharply, Hermione had to take a step back, grasping her chest. The air seemed to vibrate and _shift._ Adrenaline pulsed at her temples as her senses became on high alert. Muscles she was not even aware she had tensed and throbbed, as if readying themselves for a battle. She couldn't fathom why she should have such a reaction, but something that lay deep inside of her - _primitive and wise_ \- screamed caution.

A figure came into view, clad in barely _nothing,_ golden wraps and leaves that seemed to meld to her body, and that was it! When the figure became solid, Hermione was stunned by the raw beauty of the creature. Tumbling layers of golden hair fell down to her chest, and what appeared to be wings flapped once and majestically behind her. Hermione was struck with the urge to either flee or fall down and worship the apparent goddess.

She might have smiled at the beautiful woman, if it wasn't for the eyes that glared back at her—silver...iridescent... _inhuman_ eyes. It was hard to decipher the feelings behind them—if there were any feelings—they were quite cold for so lovely a creature. Hermione got the odd feeling that there was hatred hidden in the luminous depths, or at least severe distaste. She couldn't fathom what she could have done to provoke such feelings, but then she abruptly doubted that those feelings were even there in the first place.

"Er, excuse me but…"

"Would you like to access the portal or not?" the Fae, Hermione instinctively realized, said in an impossibly melodious voice that clashed harshly with the sharpness of her inquiry.

A plethora of questions begged to issue from her lips, chief among them being - _what is a portal_? But the moment she was going to put voice to the thought, a _legion_ of voices shouted all at once for her to _stop._ She bit her tongue so hard it drew blood. The voices were so... _foreign._ Hermione wondered how they could be in _her head._ With the awareness that she was seemingly not alone in _her own head,_ came severe trepidation. She looked at the Fae once more, viewing her in a new light, and most definitely categorized her as an enemy.

This creature _impossibly_ expected her to be somebody _she was not,_ and intuitively Hermione realized that the only way to escape with her life was to play the part of this mysterious person she was perceived to be. If one could evaluate the iridescent facets of the Fae's orbs, they might see hatred, fury, but also something akin to _fear._

"No thank you, actually," Hermione forced out, her voice shrill if not grating. "I don't have use of the portal today." She smoothed out the wrinkles in her simple dress, attempting to put off the airs of a queen and not of a peasant.

The Fae almost... _frowned_? If that's what you could call it. The movement seemed far too graceful for a frown though. "Do you realize the portal is being frequently accessed?"

Hermione swallowed discreetly. There was a challenge in the Fae's eyes, as if she expected Hermione to be angry over this bit of news. The fact that the Fae had been so informative told her that the Fae's intention was either to ignite Hermione's rage or direct said rage to the alleged portal-accessor—whatever that meant. _Lie,_ the voices or rather the legion, screamed once more.

She attempted to scoff, drawing on a trait quite uncharacteristic of her but somehow buried deep within—one of _profound leadership_. "Of course I _know._ " The Fae's eyes got impossibly harder. Merlin but they were like diamonds! "At any rate, it's _my_ business," she added uncertainly, but injected her voice with a confidence she didn't feel.

The fury heightened, but behind the rage Hermione discerned acceptance. If the Fae was at all skeptical about who Hermione was, her little act seemed to have persuaded the Fae. Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that if it hadn't, the Fae would have dealt with her swiftly and mercilessly. She suppressed a shudder.

"It may be your business," the silver-eyed Fae all but snarled, her magic shimmering in the air with her wrath, "but if you don't get a handle on it, you force our hand."

Hermione jutted her chin with all the confidence she could muster, inwardly sighing in relief at having seemingly said the right thing. "I may have use for the portal later." _It's best to keep my options open, isn't it?_ "Until then." She inclined her head almost regally and against her instinct, turned her back on the creature and walked on unsteady feet back to the gardens.

She knew the moment when she was safe again. The strange presence in her mind receded and the heightening alarm left with it. She didn't dare glance back, but somehow she knew the Fae had vanished. As soon as she was well within the Malfoy gardens, she flung her hand on the trunk of a tree to steady herself and gasped for air, taking grateful breaths in.

Her brain buzzed with the after-effects of her sudden adrenaline rush and it was all she could do to keep the turmoil she was feeling bottled inside. Merlin, but what did it all mean? Faes...and portals...and portal crossers. None of it made sense! She could _always_ solve a problem, but she didn't know _where to start_ with this one.

And the voices…

Should she be concerned that there were now voices speaking to her in what seemed to be her most dire moments of need—a _multitude of them?_ Hermione felt the previous alarm returning and may have let herself flop to the ground if it wasn't for the high-pitched voice that almost made her reach for her magic and oust her bloody self.

"What in Merlin's name is wrong with you?" A woman, a very pretty woman, drew herself up from under the tree she'd been - crying under? - and stared at Hermione with barely suppressed rage.

Sweet Morgana, Hermione could not deal with anymore surprises!

"I'm sorry, milady," she curtseyed.

The blond witch ceased her crying and proceeded to eye her shrewdly, far too shrewdly for Hermione's liking. "Sneaking up on your betters like that," the witch shrilled, "that you would even dare. And sounding like you had the air sucked out of you, what could possibly possess you to act so rash?"

Hermione kept her head ducked, almost wishing for the voices to return to help her out of this one. "There was a beast in the field." She gestured to the horse-like-skeletal-winged creatures grazing in the distance. "I was frightened, milady. I'm sorry."

The woman glanced to where Hermione had indicated. "I don't see anything."

Hermione wanted to ask if she was blind but bit her already sore tongue. She couldn't help but notice how beautifully the witch was dressed. Her eyes may be red and decidedly cruel, but her gown sparkled an iridescent white with a pale green overlay adorning it, and gorgeous sleeves hung over her wrists. Hermione suddenly felt like she should look away, the previous confidence she had feigned almost vanishing.

The striking blond witch continued to glare at Hermione, awareness sparking in her hazel eyes. "I know who you are. You're the one that went traversing with my Intended around the world."

Hermione inwardly cursed. Was this Astoria Greengrass? Of course it had to be. She looked very much like the girl she remembered from when Olive used to entertain, and she had claimed to be Draco's intended. Astoria's eyes wandered over Hermione, and for the second time, she felt vulnerable in her common clothes and bedraggled appearance, especially in the face of such perfection. Astoria was looking at her as if she was sizing Hermione up, and she was acutely aware of the assessment. She shouldn't be standing so straight, she shouldn't be meeting the witch's gaze, and she wanted desperately to look down as she felt compelled to, but jealousy had flared searing hot in her chest and she couldn't help but defy her own council.

"You're Olive's disobedient slave," she continued. "I recognize you. You were the one she sent to Australia. And now you're here. How fortunate for you. You must count yourself so lucky to have been elevated so."

 _Yes,_ she mused. _That's exactly what I think—I'm dead lucky._ Astoria was not quite the same as when she saw her last, but Hermione definitely recognized her. She'd changed a bit since Olive had entertained her last, but she was definitely the same girl.

"Olive said you were a troublesome Muggle," Astoria said with a sneer. "She sent you away as punishment." She took a menacing step towards Hermione. "And now you've sunk your claws into _my Intended_."

"Milady, I haven't—."

"Silence! You have so and there's proof because he's rewarded you to a position at the manor. You might think you've weaseled your way into his life, but rest assured, I _will_ see you leave this place." Astoria's fingers reached for a wand Hermione couldn't see, and that's when she had enough.

She turned on the spot and fled as fast as her feet could carry her.

"Stop, I'm not done with you by half, Muggle…"

Astoria's voice faded as Hermione continued to run. She burst into the house, seeking desperately for a place to hide in this world she stuck out like a sore thumb in. If she returned to the cellar would anyone come for her? She wanted nothing more than to sleep away the awful day and deal with the consequences the next day. She was in no state to figure out what everything meant, not like this. She rushed past the open ballroom, only dimly aware of the couples dancing and the ladies gowns swishing along the marble floor. She narrowly dodged a well-dressed man holding a champagne flute who had broken off from the crowd.

"Sorry, my Lord," she mumbled whilst keeping her head ducked.

"Hermione?" came the familiar voice.

She glanced up, amber eyes clashing with stormy grey ones.

She swallowed audibly.

Draco was the picture of a debonair Pureblood. His hair was styled perfectly. His smart dress robes clung to him attractively. He was refined and appeared to _belong_ in this world, all the while reminding her that she most definitely _did not._ He looked so far from the Draco she had come to know on the island, it was hard to even meet his gaze.

She should ask about his meeting with the King of course, but the words lodged in her throat. She still wanted to flee and skirt any responsibilities.

" _Hermione_ —I've been looking for you everywhere." He looked left and right before taking hold of her by the wrist and dragging her down the hall and into a room.

Hermione only distantly registered that he had brought her to a library, the smell of parchment cluing her in. Draco flicked his wand, and a small chandelier was lit, casting a dim circle of light.

He turned to her immediately and squeezed her by the shoulders. He was suddenly far too close and Hermione was struck with the need to either put much-needed space between them or fling herself fully in his arms.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" He began rubbing her shoulders, his eyes darting over her, searching for some injury she supposed. "You're shaking like a leaf, are you all right?"

 _Oh, don't ask me that right now!_ The likelihood of her bursting into tears was growing stronger by the moment and the last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of him.

"I'm fine, Draco," she gritted out. Could he not simply leave her alone? He'd been around beautiful women the entire evening, and she was suddenly embarrassed by how common she must look in comparison. _Merlin, but there's probably dirt smudged on my face._

"Don't give me that." His eyes were searching and attentive. "I can tell when something is wrong. Just tell me so I can fix it."

Hermione forced out a ragged sigh. "It's just been a difficult day, that's all. I had several unfortunate run ins, first with a lethal faery that apparently patrol your gardens, then with _your intended,_ and I've simply had enough is all. I just want to go to bed."

"The faery's are harmless little bugs."

"I'm talking about a real faery—a Fae. Surely you know what I'm talking about." Her irritation increased measurably. "Out there by the little hill in the middle, where the beasts graze?"

"Hill...you mean the faery knoll? And beasts?" Draco furrowed his brows in confusion, somehow making him look even more devastatingly handsome. "I'm not sure what you're talking about, but as far as Astoria goes…"

She looked up, curious to hear his thoughts on the witch.

"I'm sorry if you ran into her. I imagine she was upset, as she left in hizzy when I rather bluntly informed her I had no intentions of marrying her."

The statement should _not_ make her feel so relieved.

Holding onto her anger, she decided to lash out. "And why not? She's a Pureblood, and she belongs in your world."

Concern etched into every line of his face. "She's a willful _child._ It absolutely won't happen. You know I don't want that."

 _Damn_ , tears were forming in her throat and threatening at her eyes. She pulled away if not just to protect herself from certain heartbreak. "Don't worry about me," she rushed out the words whilst she still could. "I'm just worried about you, and your meeting with the King…"

Draco did not let her leave, he spun her back towards him in a fierce embrace and pressed her head into his chest. "You don't need to concern yourself with that, it's taken care of." He tangled his fingers in her hair, rubbing her scalp. "All is forgiven and he's even gone as far as assigning me a mission I'll find out more about tomorrow."

Hermione could not take his never ending kindness. Draco always knew the right thing to say and to do, he was _perfect_ , and she was beginning to doubt if she even deserved him. She felt so far from the girl she had been on the island, almost like a different person entirely. Could she ever gain her confidence back? Perhaps she needed to perform magic, it had been so long. "Draco, please," she made another futile attempt to pull away. His arms were far too inviting. "Just let me go. I need to rest is all."

"I'm not letting you leave like this." He spoke against her hair and she was grateful her face was hidden from him, pressed against his robes. "I'm not sure what you've told yourself, but my feelings _haven't changed._ Have yours?"

"No, of course not." She didn't want to have this conversation. "I just have my doubts that we're—."

"Doubts?" He spun around and then proceeded to walk her into the book case, not giving an inch. "You have doubts?" he repeated, and there was an edge to his voice that Hermione immediately discerned as dangerous.

How could she express what she was feeling? She was uncertain about everything. She wanted him, _of course_ , but was it right for her to pursue him? Was it selfish of her to let this happen? Draco was her first _everything_ , she didn't know how relationship stuff worked. Maybe it was common to have your heart flipped upside down when you did what _they_ had done together. But now that they were back in reality, did she really expect Draco to go against _everything_ in order to help her? It seemed like a foolish dream! What had she even been thinking when she thought it was possible to go against the Sovereign? People were happy to have slaves, no one wanted change. It made the Purebloods feel powerful to have someone to rule over. Her wish to change the status quo was nothing short of crazy, just like the voices she was hearing in her head. She was damaged, and she could only negatively affect Draco. He was one of the good ones, and perhaps ending this craziness was the best she could do.

"Please, Draco, I'm not even sure we should be doing this." The words came out like a soft plea and a tear escaped down her cheek. Then more quietly, "I don't even think I deserve you."

Shock and incredulity warred in his eyes, before giving way to anger. "Don't say that."

She inadvertently recoiled from the harshness of his tone.

"You always try to be a martyr," he continued, his voice dangerous. "It's probably your _only_ flaw."

The words confused her. Was he paying her a compliment? It was hard to tell with him. He got down on his knees, and that's when Hermione became truly frightened. "Draco, what are you doing? Get up."

"I won't let you do this," he continued, now looking up at her from the ground. "I won't let you rationalize what we have—it's _special._ " Hands wandered up and down her legs, over the thin material of her frock, and Hermione felt an entirely new heat creep up on her. "If anyone is undeserving, it's me." His hands gently kneaded the flesh of her bum, and she bit back a gasp. "Do you understand?" he asked her earnestly, his right hand dropping down to the bare skin of her ankle, eliciting a shiver down her spine. "I'll make you understand."

Whether it was a promise or a threat, Hermione couldn't be sure. She was frozen in delicious trepidation, her tears forgotten on her cheeks, as his hand continued its ascent upward, dragging her dress up with it. This was exactly the sort of thing she should be preventing, but Draco had her up against the bookcase and his grip on her left hip was unrelenting. She'd never been good at resisting him.

He stared at her hungrily, his slate-colored eyes peircing, having the effect of lighting a flame in her belly. " _Draco_ ," she breathed, her voice sounding smoky. "I don't think we should...what if someone comes in…"

"I've locked the door." His tongue reached out to leave velvety strokes behind her newly exposed knee and they nearly buckled at the sensation.

Her stomach tightened and her cheeks stained crimson as she watched him. She couldn't tear her eyes away from his when he continued to bunch her dress all the way up to her hips. A challenge in his eyes, he leaned forward and breathed against her, the wet heat of his mouth making her want to fall backwards. Hermione could not prevent the soft mewl from escaping her throat as white, hot lust raced through her veins.

" _Muffliato_ ," he cast wandlessly.

His fingers toyed at the material of her knickers, brushing against sensitive flesh that abruptly caused all logical thought to flee her mind. His free hand traced the fabric over her thigh, while his other hand slipped underneath the only barrier separating them and began to peel the offensive material down her legs.

Heat singed between them, clouding her senses, as he took his time and moved slowly, his inquisitive fingers trailing along her skin. She could feel the ghost of his breath along her most sensitive part and it was all she could do to keep breathing. His hand came to rest on the narrow curve of her waist, holding her dress out of his way as he leaned forward to give her the pleasure she'd been craving.

Lust seared through her and her hands frantically sought purchase on his shoulders. The feel of his tongue licking taunting circles against her slickened flesh caused her head to fall back in ecstasy as harsh breaths tore from her lips. It was impossible not to move against him and - _oh, gods -_ stunning new sensations exploded in her abdomen sending liquid heat plummeting to her core.

In a moment of clarity, she knew she should not be allowing this...should try to stop him...but then his tongue was melting into her and he added a finger, forcing her to become lost, becoming a temporary victim to her desire. Worry fled her brain as she closed her eyes and simply _felt._

She expelled a shaky breath. " _Draco._ "

He broke away but the movement of his finger didn't stop. "I'm a Pureblood _on my knees for you_ , Hermione. Because I care about you, _I want you_."

It was wrong and unsettling to feel so powerful from his words, but then he leaned back down and she was swiftly caught up in a blind panic, fingers finding his hair and tugging as a stifled whimper issued from her lips. Every nerve ending heightened as she desperately reached for something rapturous, only just within her reach and getting closer thanks to the unbearably wonderful rhythm he set.

It was maddening.

Her mind was already in such a frenzy thanks to the horrible day she had endured, and she found herself more than susceptible to Draco and his charms, her bubble of anxiety having burst and given way to pure need.

He worked his tongue faster, seeming to know just what her body was craving before she did. Blood rushed to the places he sucked and tasted, causing her to shudder and shake. Her eyes fluttered closed and her breathing grew ragged.

"Look at me," he demanded in a gravelly tone.

Her lashes lifted and she struggled to keep her heavy amber eyes focused solely on him, if only so that he wouldn't stop. Each flick tore a moan from her mouth. She was trembling so hard, he was forced to grip her hips harshly, which only served to arouse her more. Her cries became more desperate with each swipe over her sensitive bundle of flesh. He curled his finger just so and her pleasure instantly rippled through her.

His restraint snapped.

He stood to his full height, dark pools of silver skewered her to her very soul as her inner walls fluttered around his fingers. Her gaze was heavy lidded and confused as her body quivered, wanting more. Still shaking, she tugged him by his collar, pulling him down to meet her searching lips. She could _taste herself,_ and it was entirely too erotic. He let out an involuntary groan and she felt him harden to steel against her thigh.

He broke away, eyes flashing perilously. She could feel his magic bristle forcefully, mingling with her own in the most delightful way. "I want you," he whispered against the skin of her neck, his breath fanning over her bare throat. "You're in my thoughts constantly."

His lips sought hers with a violence that both shocked her and delighted her. She allowed his tongue to slip past teeth and lightly scrape against her skin. His hands brazenly wandered down her chest and her nipples hardened to pointed peaks beneath the thin material of her dress. He tugged at various layers, and freed her chest from her bodice so that his fingers brushed across skin, a momentary victim to his desperation. He tongued her in blatant sexual desire and she submitted to the heat of his kiss, melting into his chest.

He broke away again, nipping at a particularly sensitive tendon on her neck. "Do you want me?" he purred, and she couldn't help but be spurred on by the dark infection of his tone. "Tell me, Hermione, I want to hear you say it."

The heat of the moment betrayed her and she was helpless to keep the affirmation from tumbling from her lips in a raspy moan. A strange, giddy feeling shrilled in the pit of her stomach causing her to feel like she was _falling..._ spiraling headfirst into a deep chasm she would be unable to escape.

She was only dimly aware when he gripped himself, but her eyes popped open when she felt him rub himself against her slickened folds with deliberate possession. Nestled in the slope of her thighs, he dragged his hard length up and down, eliciting frantic whimpers from her throat. Her right arm wrapped around his neck while her left hand sought purchase in between the steps of a ladder next to her head. She lifted herself slightly, to make it _easier._

"Good girl," he growled into her ear, his hardness nudging her and parting her silken flesh.

He entered her with a slow gliding motion, groaning when he filled her completely, and holding completely still. Hermione gasped at the sensation of being so _full,_ her inner walls clamping down on him greedily, causing his jaw to tighten and eyes to darken in his effort to stay in control.

She didn't want him to keep such a tight grip on his control.

She wanted him to pound into her relentlessly.

"Hold still."

Hermione ignored his demands, wickedly raising herself on the ledge and then slamming back down, moaning at the wonderful friction.

" _Hermione._ "

He gripped her hips tightly, as if he could still her, but she wouldn't be restrained. Her previous pleasure left her sensitive and wanting.

Hunger burned in his eyes as every muscle strained in his face. "You need to be still...I won't last."

He ground into her, torturously slow and she keened on an upward thrust. He was trying hard to start a slow, deliberate pace, but she needed him to take her fast...she wanted it _badly._

Her fingers found his hair and tugged. "Don't hold back," she begged, eyes glazed and wanton. "I _need_ it."

His lips clashed with hers desperate and hard. She kissed him back without stopping to expound on the madness of it, his kiss claiming her and edging her towards the promise of imminent relief. The ache in her core throbbed harder, desperate for me. He hastened his speed, snapping his hips in time with her downward thrusts.

She submitted to his movements, working with him, and - _oh gods_ \- it was almost too much to take when her pleasure spiked through her the second time, much more powerful and intensified. He lost his rhythm, unable to hold back as her walls fluttered and squeezed him. The universe exploded from behind her eyes and she tried not to scream as she came flying apart, shattering into brilliant sparks.

They were connected and it was so _right._

So _familiar._

He felt like home and for a few blissful moments, she forgot her insecurities. He had effectively comforted her and persuaded her she was something _more_.

 **~oOo*oOo~**


	14. Chapter 14: A Minor Hiccup

**A/N: Happy Wednesday all! In the middle of a grueling work week and eager to see the weekend. Hopefully it will be filled with plenty of writing! It's been a bit, but this is a nice size chapter so I hope you enjoy. Thanks for all your encouraging words regarding this story. I'm so excited to write the next few chapters and bring light to some of the mysteries in this story. Much love XxX**

 **Beta Love: RoOjoy and Maloreiy-thank you so much!**

 **Thanks so much for the feedback C:** **Maloreiy** **,** **Firesong23, mojowitchcraft, EStrunk, pgoodrichboggs, romancenerd7878, trinnyboppers, Annamonk, bennettfan84, LeanaM, Beth, Sierra, I was BOTWP, Pierrej92, AnnaOxford, marzipan4, MysterySan, Ezzin,** **and the guests!**

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 **~oOo*oOo~**

Sirius navigated _The Valor_ into the small inlet, a chill sweeping through him as he guided the vessel to shore. There was something decidedly eerie about the place. It was quite odd, really, Aruba was usually prone to sunny weather with a spot of rain here and there, but on this side of the island, it sat under a thick cloud of fog.

He could only see a small way in front of him and the shore snuck up quicker than he had expected.

"It's only like this when she's here," Minnie spoke in a chilly whisper, before turning blue piercing eyes on him. "So I guess you were wrong—this isn't simply busy work."

Sirius gulped, feeling something akin to trepidation churning in his gut. "It's not me that was wrong—it's Harry—he would have never have sent the two of us had he known."

"Are you suggesting we turn back?" she challenged.

He averted his gaze, suddenly finding the slight witch bloody offputting. "It's something to consider."

A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she promptly bumped him with her hips, sending him staggering to the railing. "Coward," she called over her shoulder.

"I'm not a coward." He frowned, anger flooding his features. "I'm just not sure we're the best spokespeople to be dealing with this."

She turned the vessel sharply, aiming for the rickety and greying wood of the dock. "You didn't say that before...on the way here."

"I thought it would be a bloody vacation, that we could have some fun in Aruba. You know, you really are getting rather boring in your old age."

"I'm twenty-seven," she was compelled to remind him. "Two years younger than you."

"Exactly."

She scowled. "You haven't proved any sort of a point you know. And what if Harry's watching on his little map? Suppose he sees us barely get to where we're supposed to be before we turn around?" She loosened the rope and handed it to him, gesturing to the anchor. "No, we'd better do what we were sent here to do."

"Fine," he muttered sullenly, dropping the anchor into the shallow waters. "Let's get this over with then, the bloody witch scares me."

Minnie begrudgingly nodded her agreement and together the pair of them made their way off of the boat, stepping carefully onto the worn dock and traversing the waves towards the shore.

It was different on this side of the shore—no sandy beaches for miles like they were used to in the more populated area of Aruba. No, here the vegetation ended at the water's edge, sand colliding with mineral-enriched soil. It was the ideal place to farm, and on either side lived many farmers who grew island crops to trade, but in this inlet specifically, there was nothing but overgrown shrubbery.

They could just barely make out the crudely built house belonging to Circe. The balcony hung over the line of the water and smoke curled out from the chimney, signifying she had some sort of cauldron brewing. Sirius shivered as he thought of what she could possibly be brewing in there. Circe was a grey witch, which meant she wasn't opposed to using Dark magic as well as Light.

"Think she's in there?" Minnie gestured to the side of the house they were facing. "Or out there?" She pointed to the yard.

Sirius was about to answer when something that looked suspiciously like a black cloak rippled just a few feet in front of him, it's edges fluttering and shifting. He instantly propelled himself into action, placing one hand in front of Minnie to block her from danger and whipping out his wand with the other.

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " A wispy, white light shot out from his wand, folding itself into the form of an Ibizan hound and charging headfirst for the dark creature.

The thing sprouted off into the fog, chased off by the corporeal Patronus, but Sirius still had his wand trained after it.

"Hey," a lilting voice cut through the silence. "That was my friend. You didn't need to scare him off."

" _Him_?" Sirius couldn't conceal the shock in his voice. "That was a bloody Lethifold, did you want it to suffocate us to death?"

"It protects me." She leveled her brown eyes at Sirius, irritation evident in her expression. "From intruders like you."

Minnie glanced from Sirius to the witch shrouded in a fraying cape, blonde hair peeking from her hood and face etched in shadows.

"You keep questionable company," he couldn't help but inform her rudely.

"Do I?" She sneered. "I wager the merpeople and Lethifolds are a sight better company than you are."

He felt a hand grip his arm and looked to see Minnie staring at him with a meaningful look. She turned back towards the witch clad in her rags. "Circe?" she inquired, voice hesitant but firm.

"That is who you came to seek, is it not?" The witch dropped her woven basket on the ground, herbs peeking through the opening.

"Yes." Minnie nodded. "I apologize for my partner...scaring away _your friend._ "

"At least one of you has manners."

"I'm sorry." His apology came out more like a snarl. "We've been seeking you for quite a while and are relieved to finally have found you, if not also a bit on edge."

Circe's eyes had the odd effect of skewering him. "That's not really the case, is it?" she deadpanned. "You came here for a wild romp in the island's more shadier of spots. You don't really want to be here."

Minnie glanced away. "She's a Legilimens," she whispered urgently.

"That's right, so how about you both do me a favor and just spit out your reason for being here, so you can _leave._ "

Sirius' posture stiffened and his jaw tightened. "Harry needs more sacred elixir," he begrudgingly told her, staring not quite into her eyes. "He's used it all up, what you gave him last, and he needs more."

"That may be what he wants, but not what he _needs._ " Pink lips twisted in a smirk, as if she were mocking him.

"Please," Minnie beseeched the formidable witch. "We were able to restrain one but still need to deal with the other, _most expediently._ "

Circe actually chuckled. "Is that what you think you need? I merely bought us time, allowing you to restrain the Old Soul, the key was just a child—she hadn't awakened—but now it's best I do not meddle."

Sirius was getting a headache trying to make sense of the mad witch's words. " _What_?"

"Everyone marching around," she murmured madly, and Sirius once again wished he could make out more of her face. She was hunched like an old woman but her hair was strikingly blonde and her voice was impossibly young. "So many strands, so many opportunities to cross, in time...they will meet...just be patient."

Sirius could not stand to hear the ramblings of a clearly mad woman. His magic crackled menacingly in the air, his frustration brimming over.

Minnie cast a wary glance his way. "Is that what you wish us to tell Harry? That strands need to... _cross_?" she phrased the words delicately.

"She's bloody mad is what she is, drank too much damned elixir herself, is what I think." Sirius stance was alert and guarded.

Circe turned to face him, her magic snapping in the air even more menacingly than his. "Then be gone with you. There is nothing here for you." She gestured flippantly with glove covered hands. "Here is not where you need to be...go back and heed the Divinator's words."

"Come on," Sirius groaned, grabbing Minnie by the wrist. "It's clear this is all very pointless." Minnie could hardly keep up with his long strides as he left without so much as a backwards glance.

When they were safely aboard the ship, away from the unsettling shore, Minnie whirled on him. "Couldn't you have shut up?"

"It didn't matter. The witch is mad! Let Potter sweet-talk her. I told you we weren't the ones for the job."

Minnie placed her hands over her chest, allowing Sirius to pull up the anchor. "Speak for yourself." She narrowed her eyes. "And it wasn't _pointless._ I for one, will be telling Harry exactly what she said. It could have more meaning than you think."

 **~oOo*oOo~**

 _It was so bright._

 _But the brightness was not unwelcome. It was illuminating and he found he treasured the light. Thanks to the light, he could see the tall spears of dewy grass swaying in the breeze that drifted across the lush green meadow spread out before him. The smell of apple blossoms wafted through the air and when he glanced upwards, the leaves of the star tree provided him much appreciated shade._

 _But even better, thanks to the light, he could see her._

 _She lay curled by his side, chestnut hair sprawled across the ground, a small smile gracing her lips. Her eyes were wide and heavy-laden with wisdom. For a brief moment, he was struck by a sharp pain in his heart._

 _He had_ missed _her._

 _It had been so long, and now here she was._

 _Alive and vibrant, as he remembered her!_

 _It was as if she never left; but she had, and the pain he'd felt during her long absence was not easily forgotten._

 _He knew it wasn't her fault—how could it be? But still, she'd spent a lifetime away from him, facing new experiences without him being by her side where he belonged. It wasn't supposed to be that way. It was_ wrong.

 _His fingers curled around her hair, fingertips brushing against luxuriant curls. His free hand gripped her waist, holding her tightly against him. He had the strong urge to tighten his grip and never let go. She was finally here, and he would_ never _let her out of his sight again._

" _Has it really been that long?" She tilted her head quizzically, her expressive eyes seeking his._

 _A lump formed in his throat. He looked out past the grass and to the shimmering pool that sparkled a brilliant blue in the sunlight. Beyond that sat their friends—reunited after so long apart. They were laughing and joking, casting spells along the water's edge. It was almost as if the bleak period he'd endured hadn't even existed. He'd like to forget it had._

" _Quite long," he answered simply._

 _Hurt flashed over her face and her eyes closed in concentration. "I know. I can feel it."_

" _Do you remember nothing?"_

 _Her jaw tightened. "I remember Egypt...and_ before _...but I know there was something after that, and I don't seem to be able to find it, as if it's been...locked away."_

 _He pulled her more securely to him in a gesture of comfort. "It doesn't matter," he assured her. "We won't let it happen again. We'll make sure they don't get in the way of our happiness this time."_

 _He slipped her chiton past her shoulder and lightly kissed the smooth skin revealed to him. She was here in the flesh! He wouldn't let a moment pass without cherishing it._

" _We'll have to fight this time. We make the next move before they do."_

 _For a brief moment, her face went blank and her eyes turned vacant. It was that far off look she got when she was no longer present. He waited patiently, knowing it was better to do so than to rouse her when she was like this._

" _Yes," she finally breathed. "prépei na agonistoúme."_

When Draco finally awoke, he sat up gasping for air, his chest rising and falling in short pants. It had been a rather pleasant dream. Truthfully, he hadn't even known he was dreaming. His subconscious had certainly painted him a vivid image. He could still recall the scents that wafted through the sweet air—still feel a rather peculiar ache in his chest when he remembered her soft smile.

It was Hermione in his dream—of that he was sure.

She was somewhat different, but still the same.

There were others that looked vaguely familiar in the distance of his dream, barely on the perimeter, but just when he thought he was close to solving their identities, the answer would disappear, just out of reach.

It was a very off-putting dream. One filled with so many emotions. He could swear he felt things stronger than he'd ever felt anything when he was awake. The words she had said to him rang in his ears. It was in another language, and one he was unable to place. Aside from the New World, no one spoke in other languages and hadn't for several hundred years. The crown declared English as the language of the world, and countries would be punished if they were caught speaking their old languages. Draco knew a bit of Latin, and he knew his father kept some old texts that were not written in English locked secretly in the vast Malfoy library, but everything else had been lost to them. Soon even the New World would join the rest of the earth in speaking English. It was only a matter of time.

 _Greek._

The thought flitted through his brain unbidden. Somehow, he knew they had been speaking Greek. Not just the last bit, but Draco realized with a jolt that they had been the entire time—and he'd _understood it._ The revelation made him feel slightly unnerved. He had enough to worry about without having time to devote to unraveling _some dream._

He was alone in bed.

Of course, after their desperate coupling in the library the night prior, he was unable to take her in his arms and drift off to sleep with her. They had to go their separate ways, but Draco hoped that he had made her feel better, even just a little. He didn't like to see her so unsure, it didn't suit her! From the minute he'd met her, she'd been confident and fiery, breaking all of the preconceived notions he'd had about first Muggles, and later Muggle-borns. To see her insecure and faltering made him feel sick to his stomach.

Ever since landing on the island, he thought the only thing he wanted to do was leave and get back to his home, if not back to the sea. But now that he had his wish, the result was only foul and bitter-tasting. They'd had it so _good_ cut off from the rest of the world, and he definitely missed their little paradise.

He dressed robotically, the grandfather clock in his room informing him it was long since time he readied himself for his meeting with Macnair. There wouldn't even be time to grab breakfast. He selected fine green dress robes with silver trim, marveling at how little he'd thought about his appearance since his days on the island.

The remnants of the strange dream stayed with him as he made his way to the Floo. There were things he needed to say to her...things he hadn't said the prior evening, but that he could hardly ignore now. To a degree, he'd still been careful, guarded even, when attempting to comfort Hermione the prior night. He'd clamped his mouth shut on the feelings of devotion that threatened to tumble from his lips. He'd been afraid to admit them to himself, let alone to utter them aloud, and now…

...Now it was as if he no longer cared about protecting himself.

Be it the odd dream that brought feelings to the surface he had no idea he was capable of feeling or something else, he was suddenly sure beyond a shadow of a doubt regarding how he felt about her. When he met with Astoria for the first time in months—beautiful, perfect, Pureblood Astoria—he was sick with the notion of marriage to her. It would be a forced imprisonment. She was not for him and they had nothing in common aside from being on the same continent. He didn't hesitate for a moment in informing her there would be no union. The thought repulsed him. His heart belonged to another. When he closed his eyes, it was Hermione he pictured.

He needed to tell her. Damn the King and his orders. He needed to tell her _now._ Perhaps he could convince her that there was nothing for them here. If anything, it would be a danger for them to stay. They could do nothing, make no difference with these people. Their right to be together - _freely_ \- would be threatened if they stayed. He couldn't take that risk. He needed things...access to a ship, firstly.

His thoughts drew to his parents, to his grandfather. What would become of them if he left? They had been better off believing him to be dead. At least that way his family would not pay the price for him fleeing. But the idea of forcing them to come with him was equally problematic. His parents enjoyed their lives here. They liked the parties, the power, the people. They were integrally part of the system and he wasn't sure they would willingly accompany him unless he just forced them to go and they saw how serious he was about being with the witch. His parents would probably try to convince him to take her as a mistress, but he had no desire to do so—she deserved better.

The Floo swallowed him up in a blaze of green flames, and then he was stepping out into the Ministry and making his way through Court.

Perhaps he could sell the Firecrab shell and use it to procure a ship? Maybe stock it with livestock and plants; if he could do so stealthily, it would make life easier on the island. They could put up the Pratendio Charm and be protected from sight forever. The vision in his head was highly appealing. He had a new wand, a loner his Father gave him until they could properly find a new one in Diagon Alley, and now he could actually be of assistance instead of just using simple spells.

He wondered how many others there were that had done what he was debating. Were there more magicfolk that wished to live free from the tyranny of the Crown and had settled secretly on hidden isles? The thought of actually raising their wands against King Riddle was insane. The King had the entire might of the nations on his side. Fighting with him was an impossibility. It was better to flee and hide and live out their lives in peace.

Draco was jolted from his thoughts by the sight of Blaise and Theo jogging up to him.

"Circe's tit," Theo swore. "You really are alive." He gaped at Draco as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

Draco felt his heart lurch unexpectedly at the sight of his friends. They looked somehow different, leaner, maybe, and he reflected on how long it had been since he'd seen them. They hadn't even been present at the ball the evening prior, and he felt a stab of guilt on not seeking them out sooner.

"Theo," Draco greeted, embracing his friend, then turning to Blaise. "What can I say? Just lucky, I guess."

"Bugger," Blaise said. "You really must have Felix Felicis running through your veins to have been able to make it to land after being knocked out stunned in the water."

"We thought you dead," Theo added. "I didn't think there was any way…" he trailed off uncertainly.

"This reunion is sweet and all," a gruffer voice said from the corner of the room making Draco aware of the others that were there with them. "But hopefully your luck will not run out on this next mission, if you call losing your ship to the rebels luck."

Draco turned to face Thorfinn, who stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Besides him and to the left was _a witch._ In a moment of shock, Draco realized it was Astoria's sister—Daphne. He quickly looked back to Thorfinn whose eyes narrowed angrily at Draco.

"We were outnumbered and unprepared," Theo, ever the one to come to Draco's defense even when he didn't need the wizard to, told Thorfinn stiffly. "Whatever this mission is, you'd better hope we don't cross paths with them again."

Thorfinn appeared to be unmoved by Theo's declaration. "They're giving us _The Lumos,_ the fastest ship on the seven seas. We can fly right past Potter and his army of Mudbloods."

"Fly past them to where," Blaise said, glancing at everyone in the room. "What is this whole thing about?"

"Yes." Draco furrowed his brows in curiosity. "And who exactly will be joining us?"

"Everyone you see here," Thorfinn replied stiffly. "This is our team for the duration of the mission."

Draco blanched. "Not to seem rude, but Miss Greengrass will be joining us? I had understood there to be some modicum of danger associated with this mission."

"More than some modicum," Thorfinn spat cruelly, seemingly irritated but in agreement with Draco's concern.

"More?" Theo frowned. "What exactly is it we will be doing?"

"That's for me to tell you," came another voice.

Draco spun around to face the elder wizard that approached them.

"Pardon my delay," Macnair said graciously. "I wanted to be sure you were all here when I delivered your orders."

Draco inclined his head, waiting patiently for the man to speak. A growing sense of dread began to churn in his stomach.

Macnair stared at each of them intently. "Rowle has only recently returned from South New World, tasked with locating an artifact most important to the King. His entire team was wiped out save him."

Draco shot a glance at Thorfinn, seeing the truth of Macnair's statement in his eyes. The Viking's only response was to tighten his jaw and place a protective hand around Daphne's shoulder. Draco became suspicious. How close was he to his intended? Would he do anything for her, as Draco would do anything for Hermione? Was he angry Daphne was being required to participate in this? He suspected the answer was yes. Draco became certain that whatever the King had planned did not bode well for him, let alone for his plans with Hermione.

"The mission was not a complete failure, as we now know that amulets are to be outfitted on each person who will be making this journey." Macnair strode over to the table, the only piece of furniture in the room and withdrew several chains with precious gems hanging heavily on them from a chest. "Not only will the five of you be tasked with going back to South New World to pick off where Rowle and his former team left off, but you will be expected to retrieve the artifact and bring it back to the King most expediently." He began passing out the amulets. "The King has personally seen to it that his most competent wizards, and witch, have been selected for this most prestigious honor. Zabini and Miss Greengrass are known for their unmatched ability in deciphering Runes, and Malfoy, Nott, and Rowle have an excellent track record in dueling and spellwork. The three of you should be able to face off whatever obstacles lay in your path and ensure the five of you reach your destination. It's simple really. We are giving you the fastest ship in the fleet, reinforced and shielded by the King himself, with the most competent group we can manage. You simply must grab the object and bring it back as swiftly as you can. It's not very difficult."

Draco swallowed against the rapidly forming lump in his throat. "May I ask how Thorfinn's comrades fell?"

"They were incompetent, of which you are not, so you mustn't worry about the fates of those that have went before you," Macnair told him decisively.

It appeared Draco needed to enact his plan sooner than he thought. It was already clear that his plans with Hermione were being threatened. Perhaps this provided an opportunity? Could he convince Blaise and Theo to help him overpower Thorfinn and take the ship for his own purposes? Perhaps he could stun his parents and sneak them aboard? There wouldn't be time to find livestock or new wands, he would need to act much sooner. And what if his friends were more loyal to the King? Draco never would have doubted them before, but they had spent weeks in the dungeons. What if they had changed since then?

"Very well." Draco injected ease into his voice, a tendril of fear worming it's way into his chest. "I shall only require a few days to get my house in order before we leave."

Macnair scoffed. "A few days? Have you not heard anything I've said? This matter is of utmost importance to the King. You leave now. Everything you need has already been outfitted on the vessel."

Panic rioted against his ribcage. _Leave...now?_ Draco had no doubt the King had orchestrated this for a reason. The King did not offer trust easily, and he probably harbored slight concern that any one among the forced partnership of this team would rather flee than show up when duty called. They were being forced to act now, before they could make a plan to avoid it. His posture stiffened. There was no way to get out of this! Draco had no choice but to walk with them to the docks, plans be damned! He felt as if he had just been given an execution order.

"Now that you have been briefed, I'll leave you to it. Rowle is in charge and he will lead you to the ship." Macnair spun to leave, without even offering the opportunity for questions, let alone an appeal. Draco watched him as he sped off, his heart plummeting with each echoing footstep.

He turned to face Rowle, imploring him with his eyes. "Just delay it several hours, I only want to make a few arrangements."

"Yes," Blaise agreed. "The damn Solstice dinner is tonight, anyway."

Draco suppressed his irritation, willing Thorfinn to grant him this small request at the very least. Would there be time to grab Hermione and run? How quickly would they be after them if they did?

Thorfinn was impenetrable. "The King wishes us to leave immediately, so leave we must." He turned to Blaise. "I'm sorry about your dinner plans," he sneered. Then, back to Draco. "And I'm sure you wish to say goodbye to your Intended, but Miss Greengrass can wait. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can return."

Draco paled. He wasn't going to get the chance! It was slipping out of his fingers. In one last-ditch effort he attempted to appeal to the man. "I only wish to say my goodbyes...to my parents, to…" he faltered, "to Astoria. You have your Intended with you," he nodded to Daphne, "you can protect her, I can hardly protect _mine_."

Daphne spoke up for the first time. "I assure you, Lord Malfoy, Astoria will be just fine and she will wait for you."

"Daphne is in far more danger with us then any pampered lady staying here," Thorfinn said with a snarl.

 _How wrong you are, you thick Viking brute! How will Hermione react if I don't even get to say goodbye to her._

"No," Thorfinn said definitively. "We leave now. The sooner we leave, the sooner we return."

Draco swallowed audibly, his friends exchanging sympathetic glances with him. He had no choice in the matter. It was happening, with or without his consent.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

The table settings were immaculate.

Hermione saw to it that each piece of silverware was strategically placed, drawing on her past serving experience from her time spent at the Hornby Manor, which seemed so long ago. There was not much she could do with the centerpieces which were reinforced magically, as were the decorations gracing the garden hedges and hanging above her head. But there was still manual labor Narcissa hadn't done which needed to be finished.

She felt much better.

She blushed when thinking about the prior night spent with Draco, but ever since yesterday evening, she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She had been riddled with doubts! She had no idea where they all came from, but they were like leeches sucking the life out of her. Still, Draco had said all the right things! He showed her that he truly cared. There was a feeling bursting through her chest, causing her to feel as light as air. She briefly worried she would float away from the task at hand and almost wanted to let herself.

The feeling was _love._

In recent weeks she'd wondered how she felt about Draco. The forbidden Pureblood caused her to feel a lot of things, and _do a lot of things,_ but she still hadn't quite decided how she felt about him.

It was clear as day now…

...She loved Draco.

The admission gave her such a giddy feeling, she had to suppress a smile, it would never do to be found giggling. She loved him! How she could be so lucky to have found him was beyond her but it was impossible to deny the feeling any longer.

Perhaps he didn't feel the same for her _yet,_ but she didn't doubt that he could eventually! The amount of care he showed to her, the amount of respect he had...there had to be so much more to his feelings and she believed it was possible that he could feel the same.

The thought gave her life.

She may be preparing for another stuffy Malfoy dinner party, this one begrudgingly featuring the King, but nothing in this world could touch her heart—that was _hers_ and now it was _his._

"Careful with that, girl." Narcissa cautioned her, gesturing to the fine china Hermione was holding. "My complete china collection is worth all my Muggles combined."

Hermione doubted that, but very carefully polished the surface of the plate, before setting it down.

Even Narcissa, who Hermione quickly realized liked to take her stress out on her servants, couldn't sour Hermione's mood. It would be awkward to see Draco at dinner, at the table of where she would never be accepted, but the two of them had a secret and that would keep her heart filled with joy.

It was becoming clear that Hermione's initial wishes of making a difference on the mainland were something close to a pipe dream, but perhaps with Draco's newly crowned Chancellor position, he would have unprecedented access to the Muggle-borns in Azkaban. Maybe they could set some of them free? Maybe some could join them back on the island where she could protect the place from the King's influence? It was possible. Risky, but possible. She didn't think she could sleep if she did _nothing._ As tempting as it was to beg Draco to take them back to their island and hide from the rest of the world, she would have to live with herself after, and that would be difficult. The prisoners in Azkaban were just like her - no different! - she had to help her fellow comrades. Even if it was to only help a few, and even if there were tons of prisons around the world housing Muggle-borns, to know that she could do something here in the heart of it all was the first step.

"I have to leave now," Narcissa informed her, straightening her dazzling dress robes. "I only have a spot of time to freshen up before the guests start arriving."

She seemed nervous and unsure. Hermione did not know why—the witch was _bloody breathtaking._ Hermione did not know what more Narcissa could do to improve her appearance. "You look lovely, Lady Malfoy." She told the Malfoy matriarch before she could help herself.

Narcissa glanced sharply at Hermione, her blue eyes piercing and thoughtful.

Hermione was initially afraid, was it wrong of her to have complimented Narcissa? Would she now be angry with Hermione?

Emotions flickered through Narcissa's calculating gaze, first surprise, then fledgling amusement. "You are a rather strange girl. Peculiar, but I suppose it's for the better, being as you did help my son." For a minute, her stare was open and honest, before she clamped down on it and her face became unreadable once more. "In your own small way."

Narcissa turned abruptly away before leaving the garden completely and making her way to the back entrance of the manor. Hermione refocused her attention on the finishing touches, breathing a sigh of relief that she was able to escape Narcissa's wrath. She was finding more and more that it was better to remain unnoticed around the Purebloods. In her memory, those that caught the attention of their masters were the ones subject to torture and reprimand. It was much better to do her job quickly and disappear into the background.

Hermione could not be bothered by the fact that she would be assaulted by visions of witches and wizards in their best attire. Draco would be there, and that's all she cared about. The man grounded her, and just knowing he was present was enough to cool off the rage she felt from her mistreatment and the unjust inequality of it all. As she went about her duties, she suppressed a giggle when she thought about their secret. It was like they were on a shared mission—only the two of them knew why they were really here. She couldn't wait for the opportunity to meet with him after the party. Perhaps they could indulge in a repeat of the night before? It didn't really matter—so long as she was with him.

Party guests began to trickle in. She kept her eyes ducked and stayed to the shadows of the trees unless needed. It was a bit challenging to do—she so wanted to look for Draco! Though she liked seeing him carefree in torn trousers and an open shirt, the vision of him dressed in all of his Pureblood finery was appealing as well. Hermione just wanted to see him _period_. Replaying all the memories she shared with him kept her entertained the length of the night. With sharp clarity, she suddenly realized that her best memories were made with him.

It was time to serve the starter course, of which she did mechanically, careful to keep her face empty and impassive. It did not escape her notice that Draco's seat was surprisingly empty. Narcissa and Lucius seemed to ignore it, stumbling over themselves to greet a guest that had arrived late. It was no matter, he was probably just held up at the Ministry.

Back in the shadows, she allowed herself to think about the future. Draco had mentioned growing food staples indigenous to Britain on the island. Hermione wondered how foreign vegetation would fare. He'd even mentioned sneaking livestock into the cargo hold of the ship they would obtain. The idea of starting a farm - a tropical farm - filled her with much excitement. It was easy to ignore the happenings before her when she thought about their plans internally.

The second course was due to serve. Falling back into her role easily, she shoved her dreams aside to focus on the task at hand.

There was something decidedly different about the table. She couldn't put her finger on exactly what it was, but something had changed. It was as if a foreign presence had arrived, one that innately called to her. It was strange and unsettling. She chanced a glance around the table, Draco's seat still distractedly empty, and saw for herself that their were many foreign dignitaries, as well as important Court officials and Lords and Ladies.

So why then, did this particular presence stab at her so?

Her magic had become on high alert. It was quite odd, it was as if it wanted to come out and play all on it's own. Her magic recognized something Hermione herself did not, and that was disconcerting.

Under her lashes, her eyes eyes scanned the table, pausing when they landed on one man who sat at the head of the table in the position of honor. Hermione instantly sensed the power exuding from him and recognized this particular wizard as the source of her previous confusion. It didn't even have anything to do with the small crown he wore on his head, she noticed that last.

It was the King.

It had to be.

He sat pompous as you please, seemingly unaware of how others perceived or viewed him. He was completely at ease. He was breathtakingly handsome, but it was a sort of cruel beauty. His pale skin contrasted harshly with his dark hair. His eyes were obsidian black, and - Merlin! - they were staring straight at her! Hermione quickly ducked her head, cursing herself for blatantly staring at the King. Rule number one was to _not_ bring attention to herself, so why had she broken it?

His dark gaze felt like insects crawling over her skin.

Something hammered behind her chest, wild and displeased.

Why was he still looking at her? The table talk had quieted before dying completely, and now Hermione felt numerous pairs of eyes focused solely on her.

Oh dear.

This was bad!

Hermione wished desperately to be dismissed, but kept her eyes trained on the blades of grass sticking out between her shoes.

Suddenly, a very unwanted voice cut through the silence. "Sweet Morgana, that's the Muggle that was so disobedient to me yesterday!"

Before she could stop them, Hermione's eyes flew up to face her accuser. Not surprisingly, it was Astoria Greengrass that stared angrily back at her, fury burning in her eyes. Hermione felt a true moment of fright. Draco wasn't here! How could she face the wrath of Astoria alone and unarmed and with an army of Purebloods hanging on the wretched girl's every word?

Hermione saw Draco's parents exchange glances from the corner of her stilted vision, but her brain was quickly becoming fuzzy as the adrenaline rushed in pulsing waves to her temples.

"See how impertinent she is? She doesn't even respond when singled out!" Astoria snapped, seeming to relish in the attention not only on her from their table, but from several tables nearby.

Lucius ducked his head in what seemed to be embarrassment whilst Narcissa shot daggers at Astoria. Abraxas did not seemed pleased by the turn in conversation in the slightest.

"An impertinent slave?" a rolling, melodious voice practically sang. "I doubt the Malfoys would entertain such foolhardy behavior in their Muggles."

The King had addressed her! Should she look up? Should she run away? Merlin, but those winged beasts were not terribly far away, perhaps she could scale one and convince it to fly her into the night?

"This one is different, Excellency. She thinks she's above all the rest. She thinks she's special." Astoria's petulant pout sent fear sparking down Hermione's spine.

Why wouldn't the girl _shut up_? What had Hermione ever done to her, ever _really done to her,_ to call forth this? The Greengrass witch couldn't really think Hermione had anything going with Draco, anything that was _a threat_. Okay, maybe she could think Hermione had been involved in illicit relations whilst being the only woman to accompany Astoria's Intended on the island, but would that be reason enough to bring shame to her on such a large scale at this party? Surely she would rather punish her in private, if at all, with Draco's wrath to be surely tested due to Astoria's actions.

Apparently, Astoria had every intention of embarrassing Hermione in public.

"The slave has wronged you?" Lucius asked carefully, his face inscrutable.

Astoria grinned maliciously. "She has, my Lord. I was having a little chat with her just the other night. She was quite cheeky, and fled before I could swiftly reprimand her."

"I'm sorry, milady." Hermione curtseyed deeply. "I did not mean to cause offense."

The King's gaze was still on her, as if weighing her strengths and weaknesses. She felt suddenly sick to her stomach.

"And now she speaks out of turn," Astoria said shrilly. "Do you see what I mean? She is quite disrespectful."

Hermione paled considerably, a shiver passing through her. Which was it? When she spoke she was wrong, when she stayed quiet she was wrong, was there any action she could take that would be considered right?

"Astoria, please," Narcissa begged. "I know you are disappointed Draco has left so recently for another mission for the Crown, but do not take it out on his slave. He would not be pleased."

Draco— _gone?_ It couldn't be. A lie. Draco would come waltzing around the corner any second. Together they would laugh at this. What a close call! - they would say. Hermione was too stunned by Narcissa's statement to even realize the cunning way in which the older witch had mentioned Draco had left due to orders from the Crown. Whether it was for the King's ears or to assure Astoria, Hermione wouldn't be sure of which later on.

The threat lay heavily in the air. Through her shock at Narcissa coming to defend her, Hermione felt trepidation—Astoria seemed to be fuming.

"She deliberately disobeyed an order, Lady Malfoy. Is that the sort of behavior we should come to expect from Muggles?"

Instinctively, Hermione knew there was nothing more Narcissa or any sympathetic Malfoy could do. Astoria had so effectively walked her into an impossible situation, and Hermione knew a punishment was inevitable. The hope that they would go back to discussing frivolties as they had been disappeared into the magically heated air, and she braced herself for what was to come.

"Such insolence should not be tolerated," King Riddle spoke, his dark words curling around Hermione and squeezing her like a vice. "Perhaps Miss Greengrass is just in seeking her revenge."

It only took a look, one look of approval and then Astoria was on her feet, maple wand trained steadily at Hermione.

And then Hermione had tumbled to the floor. She hadn't even heard the word, but she felt the full impact of the perhaps novice Cruciatus being wielded over her.

Her back arched off of the grass as she screamed and twisted under the agony of the Dark curse. Insects feasted on her organs before they became compressed and fit to bursting thanks to a heavy weight baring down on her. Her fingernails and toenails were roughly pulled back before being plucked off completely. Tiny blades stabbed at her skin, cruelly causing an indescribable amount of pain to tear through her body. Her skin and muscles were roughly peeled back, like layers from a mango, exposing her vulnerable insides to the night air. Her limbs were taut and stretched and she couldn't take the pressure. _Make it stop! Make it stop!_ She inwardly chanted.

When the curse was lifted, the pain still remained. She saw stars and then literally saw the _night's stars_ assaulting her vision when she forced her eyes open. She couldn't make sense of what she was seeing as her vision blurred and shifted stiltedly.

"Very good," she heard a distant voice praising.

She didn't like the voice. The voice was pompous and needed to be put in it's place! Distantly, she was aware of a girl - her attacker - sitting back in her seat, apparently pleased with herself. Another wand was trained at her, and even though she couldn't see it, she innately realized it was a pale, yew wand. It magically summoned her upright on her two feet.

She wavered precariously, and sought purchase from the ledge of the hard table in front of her, uncaring of the indignant gasps that resulted from her need to hold on to something.

Her magic…

..it was wild!

It was crazed and... _Merlin..._ she couldn't get a hold of it.

It was angry and it was roiling. She was too weak to call it back fully—to _contain it._ Tendrils of her magic escaped, shooting through her, testing the air, _stretching._

"Your spellwork is impressive," continued the annoying, praising voice, amid snickers from the immediate crowd. They relished in her suffering and _bathed in it._

 _Was it?_ Hermione could show him impressive.

King Riddle turned to address Astoria. "Wonderful spellwork!" She preened under the compliment, and then the King was spinning around to face Hermione. "How about it, girl? Have you learned the proper way to address your betters?" The King smiled up at her from his seat, a cool and detached smile, but calculating nonetheless.

Her magic…

It wouldn't stay still. It was angry and pulsing with such white, hot need that even she was fearful of her power.

"Thank you, Excellency." Astoria batted her eyelashes prettily. "Shall I try again? I've been practicing this curse with the utmost fortitude."

The King laughed, only to be immediately joined in by the others, including those tables away that probably could not hear what was going on, but could see it. The King's magic rolled off of him in dark, exhilarating waves, completely at ease in the situation.

The sound of the laughter only incised Hermione's magic more. It soon bristled across her skin, leaving a burning sensation in it's wake. The fuzziness from the after-effects of the Cruciatus abruptly vanished as she suddenly focused her gaze squarely on the King, his magic strangely irritating her own.

"If you wish to, Miss Greengrass," the King generously offered.

Hermione's magic wouldn't stand for the threat of more pain. It burst through her in an ecstatic fury, rolling over her skin in delightful waves. Unable to help herself, she closed her eyes in _bliss_ as her magic wildy shot through her, uncontained and _free._

She couldn't summon the will to care if it brutally slammed through the air - slammed through the meal - the precious Malfoy china - the _people_. In that moment, she would have laughed at their discomfort—at their unease. The haughty Purebloods deserved it.

She felt fear burst through the air as china and glass exploded around her. People ducked to avoid the sharp, jagged pieces. Hermione merely straightened to her full height—proud and liberated.

Draco had _left her._

He'd joined a mission and hadn't told her he was doing so! How long would he be gone? Why had he not bothered to tell her he was going? Something dark and sinister churned in her gut. He hadn't _wanted_ to tell her. Despite his insistence that they were equals, that he _cared for her,_ he hadn't mentioned it! Which contrasted starkly with what he'd claimed.

It was betrayal.

It left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Her mind was not in charge, but rather, her heart was...and her heart was _scorned._

She'd never summoned so much magic before— _never_. She supposed she should have tried harder to stop it - harder to _reign it in_ \- but she couldn't be bothered.

She was numb and sluggish and the garden was spinning. Vine threaded fences were tilting, _she was tilting_ , she was falling, there was screaming, and she didn't care—blackness was coming and with it came and insurmountable amount of _peace_.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

How... _interesting._

It was all rather delightful. She passed the test. She proved her value. The effect of the magic...it was _glorious!_ When was the last time he felt such raw power? It was captivating. It was...what was the word that infernal girl to his left had used?...it was _special._

The King chuckled to himself while something akin to chaos erupted in front of him.

They were so plebian... _so weak._

He valued strength and cunning and _rage._

He would not be disappointed, because he recognized _it_. There would be no hiding elemental magic from him. He was an _expert._ He'd had years to train... _lifetimes._

He chuckled again. It was all too perfect! He couldn't have planned it better himself. That he would simply happen upon it...how could he not take advantage of such an opportunity? An opportunity laced with vulnerability. Oh, how sweet patience was!

The weak ones were panicking. They were screaming and shrilling and reacting in ways that were decidedly not healthy. The source had fainted. It had all come to a halting stop, but that didn't seem to calm them. So he would have to come up with something.

With a lazy flick of his wand, he righted the crystal. Pieces came falling together, as did the china and the various serving dishes. It was nothing, causing him a mere hiccup in his magic. He made it all as it was, and slowly, his subjects began to calm, their eyes drawing to him in an effort to gauge what they should do. That was good, they were too ignorant to think on their own.

When they had seated themselves, when the annoying sounds they made came to a blessed stop, he finally spoke. "Not to worry," he assured them. "Just a power influx." He could tell many of them had correctly deduced it came from the girl. All eyes were on him, even from the far tables, no one had missed the spectacle. "Happens when so many fearsome witches and wizards get together," he jested, trying for light and attempting to misdirect them into thinking the magic hadn't come from her, not like anyone would ever question him anyway. "Don't worry about the Muggle." He gestured to the helpless witch lying on the grass, then he turned to address the Malfoys. "I will take her off your hands." Strangely, emotions varying from worry to fear passed through their eyes. Ah yes, the young Malfoy's claim. It wouldn't be an issue. "I do enjoy breaking the noncompliant ones," he told them, smiling sheepishly. "I believe the trouble-maker will serve me well."

Not surprisingly, it was Lady Malfoy who gathered the wits to speak first, after seeming to have bought the story that it wasn't the Mudblood's fault, not that it mattered, since he fixed everything anyway. "We would be honored and thankful to gift her to you, Excellency. She will never be welcomed at Malfoy Manor again."

 **~oOo*oOo~**

 _Stay to the stone._

That's what it said...the message.

Had she really seen the message? It was hard be sure. Her mind certainly wanted her to have seen the message. Wouldn't that be preferential? It would mean there was hope. Dare she remember what exactly hope was.

 _Keep practicing._

 _Don't let them take you!_

Also messages from the mysterious purple orb. She couldn't remember hearing the sound, per se, but she remembered the words flitting through her brain.

It had been an orb. It _was_ there. She could not have imagined something so beautiful as when it chose to relay the information to her. She was due for the next batch of siphoning, it was _her turn,_ but she'd climbed her way out of it. She went back to the cells, finding an empty one to lay in. This one was on a narrow slant, driving others to insanity in their efforts to not go to sleep lest they roll off of the rock floor. The wards would surely rip them to pieces should they succumb to temptation. But she liked it. She stayed here whenever she was very awake. It provided her a glimpse of the outside world. It was all grey and even though there were barely any days when she could actually see the ocean, sometimes she could.

"Did you see the orb?" she had asked another like herself, who was passing with lifeless eyes.

"Sight is subjective," the dull creature informed her. "To see is to die."

She didn't know if that was a yes, or a no.

The orb had instructed her to keep practicing, and she thought that could have meant many things, couldn't it?

Practice staying out of sight…

Practice missing the revelries…

Practice her forbidden magic…

Practice her _Animagus form._

It hadn't taken her long to decide what the orb had meant, if there was an orb, of course. Azkaban had a way of making you question your truths.

Even so, she practiced anyway. She hoped the mysterious sender of the message-spouting-orb knew that even if she wandlessly perfected her Animagus form, the numerous wards on the outside would surely keep her from breaching them completely. And even if she did manage to breach them, she would find herself in the midst of roiling, angry ocean waves, and then where would she be?

Better than where she was if her father hadn't insisted on publishing text which he called "the truth."

Yes, better than that she supposed. Because that move in itself had earned her and her father a one-way ticket to Azkaban, despite being fortunate enough to be born Purebloods.

Luna squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to draw upon her suffocated magic. It was inherent, despite the wards, it couldn't quite be severed from her. She willed it to shift her skin, to transform and morph her into something else, something that could fly far away from here. She hoped the orb knew what it was talking about, she hoped it came from an intelligent person. Imagine if she listened to it, managed to transfigure, and leapt off of the cliff just so the wards could have at her.

Hopefully not. It was much nicer to cling onto hope that the orb knew what it was talking about. Luna had quite enough of Azkaban, and she suspected the siphon-riddled Muggle-borns she was imprisoned with had too.

 **~oOo*oOo~**


	15. Chapter 15: Portal

**A/N: I am loving writing these updates. The story has got to such a fun part and I'm super excited to write the next chapters. I hope you like it. Let me know what you think C:**

 **Beta Love: RoOjoy and Maloreiy**

 **Thanks so much for the feedback C:** **chibi-Clar,** **Frogster, pgoodrichboggs, EStrunk, Lillily, Sierra, trinnyboppers, AnnaOxford, Pierrej92, Beth, LeanaM, mega700201, MysterySan, Brittney, bennettfan84, NeverlandFunhouse, gussyboyblue1971, marzipan4, Ardentlyadmired, Vivianumbrella, Ein011, SaintDionysus,** **and the guests!**

* * *

 **~oOo*oOo~**

Draco stood at the bow of the ship, resting his elbows on the railing and leaning forward as he looked to the sky.

If only there was a message he could get to her, if only he could let her know he hadn't left of his own volition. Surely she would see that, she had to understand the complications of his royal duty. He didn't _want_ to be there. The mission gave him a sick sense of dread; he realized intuitively that the chances of success were quite slim.

He wasn't the only one out on the deck that evening.

No, the decks seemed to be rather popular.

He was not used to so many accompanying him—anymore it was just him with one other person.

But now, solitude was difficult to come by.

"It's a suicide mission, isn't it?" Zabini queried, catching Rowle in the intensity of his gaze. "No sense denying it, we deserve to know."

"It presents with impossibility—yes," Rowle eventually conceded, unable to be bothered from retrieving his arm around Greengrass' back. "It's hard to say as I only just crested the third chamber, but I wager the odds are heavily stacked against us."

"Why is that?" Theo asked.

Rowle sat sulkily in the corner, unbelievably lucky to have his intended sitting near him all the while. "The one chamber sears you with boils, the other drowns you, I'm not sure what the third does, or how many there are after that."

"How did you avoid succumbing to the curses?" Daphne wanted to know.

"The first one, we were unprepared," Thorfinn said. "We didn't know what the etchings above the doors meant, and we merely tread cautiously. I would have been burned if it hadn't been for the amulet, but only contracted mild blistering. Some of my men cast a shield, but it would be best to summon a Freezing Charm next time."

"Summon a Freezing Charm...alright, that's easy enough," Blaise said. "Go on."

"On the second one, we paid attention to the etchings. It depicted a drowning man. To access this chamber, you need to know how to cast a Bubble Charm."

"I can't cast one," Daphne told them sadly. "I've never tried, but I'm not sure I could learn how quick enough."

"I can do a passable one," Draco said. "Or at least I've done so before."

"Maybe we need to get some gillyweed, just to be on the safe side. It wouldn't hurt to stop by the market in Aruba." Theo lifted his brows expectantly, gauging their leader's reaction.

"I don't think the King would appreciate it if we stopped," Thorfinn told them uneasily.

"Bugger that." Blaise waved his hand dismissively. "Sent us on a death mission, didn't even give us time to say goodbye to our loved ones. Stopping in Aruba is a way to take back some of that power. We could stay a few days and get a chance to live before we possibly die."

Draco pressed his lips in a grim line. What was the best course of action? If only he could get a message to Hermione, if only he knew how to cast a Patronus. It was probably best they didn't stop and headed straight for the mission. He was determined to get back to her, and he would not accept failure.

"What about the third chamber?" Daphne tipped her head to look at Rowle, the consternation clear on her face.

"That one I couldn't decipher. I turned around at that point."

Blaise looked up curiously. "What did the etchings look like?"

"A tree, maybe? In the middle of the ocean. I can't be sure."

"We should stop in Aruba," Theo said definitively. "We need the gillyweed, and Blaise does have a point."

"You lot wouldn't leave if we stopped there," Thorfinn accused. "You'd likely live as exiles on the island far from the King's reach."

"Would that be so bad?" Blaise asked, slanting his eyes to meet the Viking's. The shocked looks he received caused him to put his hands up in defense. "I'm only saying what we are all thinking," he pressed. "We are getting royally shafted here, and at the very least we should stop and enjoy ourselves for a bit."

"Everyone...isn't thinking that," Thorfinn hedged carefully.

Draco, ever the Slytherin, jumped at the opportunity. "But aren't we? How are we being treated any differently than slaves? We have marching orders that lead us straight to our deaths, most likely."

Was it possible he could convince them to turn around, or at least stop. If they stopped, Draco was sure he could get back to Hermione and retrieve her safely. The time for exploring had passed, and it was imperative they made their escape before being stuck forever. Everyone was angry here, it wasn't just him, and he could use that to his advantage.

"I don't know," Thorfinn mused aloud. "We have been delegated a mission, one that's our duty. The King doesn't think we will all succumb to fatality, he thinks there is a chance we can succeed and that's why we all have amulets."

Draco wanted to toss his amulet over the edge of the ship and let it sink to the depths below. He was disgusted by the notion of binding the magic of Muggle-borns now.

Blaise sighed. "Fine, just a night or two, then. Just let us have a little fun before we become war casualties. No one need know we stayed over longer. We can make up the difference by using magic to cause the winds to blow in our favor." He looked around the group. "We deserve this, and we need time to come up with a better plan. I don't want any of us to die."

Thorfinn clenched his jaw, but Draco saw the moment in which he relented. "Fine, but only if we all make a Wizard's Vow to complete the mission. I need to trust that you all will not leave at the first sign of escape. We need to get this done or else none of us will see our families again. And," he glanced at Daphne, "we do need the gillyweed."

Draco was not exactly pleased with Thorfinn's answer. He did not wish to bind himself to such a cause. But what choice did he have? They needed a better plan, and if there would be no escaping, they did need to make the mission a success.

Maybe there was someone in Aruba he could pay to teach him how to cast a _Patronus Charm_.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

"What the fuck are you doing out here, gardening?"

Harry fought to keep the snarl from his voice. "As it happens - _no_ \- I'm warding."

Sirius had the uncanny ability to completely grate on his nerves, it was unrivaled by anyone else by far.

"You're digging in the dirt," Sirius pointed out, glancing at Tracey and Minnie for support. "That's what it looks like."

With a sigh, Harry rose from the ground, dusting the soil off of his trousers. "Never mind what I'm doing." He grabbed his wand and cast a quick _Scourgify._ "Don't you have something to report to me?"

"I doubt he has anything to report," Tracey scorned cruelly. "Probably out gallivanting through Aruba again, causing a damned ruckus."

The wizard in question twisted his lips in a wry smirk. "Aw, Pet, are you sorry you didn't come along, is that it? Our fearless leader keeping you cooped up again?"

"Sirius, really," Minnie chided, before looking to Harry pleadingly. "The man is impossible, and this is who you send with me to meet Circe, of all people."

Harry glanced sideways at Tracey. "Do you see how I'm treated around here? Perhaps I'm a house-elf and not the leader-of-the-resistance that I thought I was."

Tracey chuckled. "You're too lax with them I've always thought."

Harry shook his head, equal parts irritated and confused. "But really, do you have a report or not?"

"We have one," Sirius said simply.

"No luck?" Tracey leaned against the ledge, absently glancing at the river below that trickled down to the beach. Steam hovered low above the river's surface.

"Oh, she was there." Minnie told them, sitting herself down delicately besides Tracey.

Harry's interest was piqued. Somehow, he hadn't been expecting that answer. "Oh?"

"Yes, and she had quite the cryptic message for you, mate. Something about crossing lines and listening to the Divinator. It all sounded very mad to me."

"Please tell me what he means before I turn my wand on him?" Harry pleaded, turning to face Minnie.

Minnie rolled her eyes. "Well, before we were almost killed by the witch's _pet Lethifold_ -"

Tracey gasped, and Harry narrowed his eyes at the absurdity of it all.

"Circe did come out to speak with us," the brunette witch said hesitantly. "We asked her about the elixir, but she told us that wasn't what we really needed."

Harry's shoulders drooped. "So no elixir? How am I supposed to keep Riddle bound and alive without it? What does the witch think I need if not that?" He ran a hand through his unruly hair, perplexed by the news.

"Maybe you understand what she means." Minnie placed her hands on her lap. "Something about so many strands and them needing to cross? That you should heed the Divinator's words—that's what she told us."

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" Harry could feel his patience starting to thin. Could nothing go right this night.

"I was hoping you would know," Minnie told him sullenly.

"And I told this witch from the start that Circe was batshit crazy. I'm always right, if any of you would take the time to notice." Sirius crossed his arms smugly.

"Who is the Divinator I'm supposed to listen to?"

Tracey let out an indelicate snort, then pulled herself from the ledge. "Hello!" She placed a finger on her chin in mock contemplation. "Hmm, who could that _possibly_ be?" She waved her hand dramatically in front of her. "Don't suppose there's a chance she's speaking about me, do you think?"

Harry narrowed his eyes in thought, appraising Tracey in such a way that it made her uncomfortable. "Maybe. Though what have you said that I need to listen to? Your visions are usually jumbled, and you have a hard time making sense of them."

Tracey visibly deflated.

"But maybe."

"If you ask me, it was all a colossal waste of time," Sirius said.

"I didn't ask you."

"So are you going to tell me what you were doing?"

Tracey sighed. "He's been studying Residual Magic, trying to find the places on this island where magic lingers the strongest."

Minnie frowned. "Whatever for?"

"I'm not sure exactly," Harry admitted. "I'm researching ancient forms of travel, but it seems a lot trickier to navigate."

Tracey pulled away from the ledge, and stepped under the gazebo to retrieve the tome Harry had been stressing over. "As far as we can tell, it was a group effort to cut portals into other places." She flipped open the book to a particularly worn spot and brought it to Sirius and Minnie. "An Order of witches and wizards were trained in the art of portal-making, and the knowledge was passed down."

"There isn't a lot here in the way of just how the cutting was managed." Harry clenched his jaw, staring at one spot in the air as if he had a personal vendetta against it. "But I have a hankering if I could perform that sort of magic, this would be the perfect spot."

As if on cue, the air in question seemed to glitter rapidly before vanishing back to nothing.

Harry jumped up, his former enthusiasm returning in abundance. "There!" He stepped to where the odd occurrence had happened. "Did you see that?" He shot his friends a crazed look. "That glimmer just in the air. I've never seen it move before, but you have to feel _the heaviness,_ the lingering of the magic. It's almost oppressive."

"I think I saw something," Sirius said carefully. "But I can't be sure."

Minnie looked skeptical. "Perhaps a trick of the light?"

"I don't know." Tracey shook her head. "It hasn't done that before, and we all saw _something_."

"Exactly." Harry nodded, his eyes glued to the spot.

The winds picked up for a minute, causing him to sway in his step. It was the highest point on the island, and often the weather could be more furious in this section. He glanced out past the rivers and past the houses that dotted along the water, further out to the vastness of the ocean that surrounded them.

"Are you sure this should be our focus?" Sirius asked dubiously. "We have our men scattered around the Atlantic right now. Has Reg and his crew even made it back?"

Harry gestured flippantly to the map that lay open on the table. "See for yourself. They're on their way back, and Ron and them have already docked in Britain. They should be making an Azkaban sweep tonight or tomorrow night. Everything is fine."

"Riddle is up to something," Tracey said, stepping quietly over to Harry and placing a hand softly on his shoulder, trying to bring his focus back to the present. "He has people moving all around. He's interested in something in South New World."

"The Relic." The mysterious artifact had also eluded Harry ever since Justin had mentioned that the Purebloods were searching for something. He knew instinctively that it was crucial that he found whatever it was before King Riddle did.

"We have enough on our plates," Minnie intoned wisely. "Perhaps we can further our magical education another time. Right now, we need to stay one step ahead of Riddle."

She was right, they all were. Harry had been focusing far too much of attention on theory when he didn't really have the luxury to do so.

Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes away from the curious shift in the air.

But then the glimmer returned, and this time it was impossible to ignore.

Color streaked across the air, morphing and pulling in all directions. All eyes were suddenly on the spot that hovered directly above the ground as a kaleidoscope of colors began to morph and change right in front of them. The curl of light was expanding - _stretching -_ and Harry took a hasty step back towards his friends who were all on their feet, wands suddenly at the ready.

"What the bloody hell?" Sirius stared with disbelieving eyes at the magical ball of energy that had seemed to abrupt out of nowhere.

What had happened? Had Harry unintentionally opened something? Was he the cause for the sudden disruption of magic, for the churning turmoil he was beginning to worry would spread too much and engulf the entire area? It wasn't so large now, just big enough for a man to crawl in, but it was still moving, and it _wouldn't stop._

Harry could do nothing but watch with wide eyes, weary about what would happen and completely paralyzed in shock.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione was encased in impossible softness.

It was a softness she had _never_ felt.

In all her years, she never would have guessed she could feel so warm, so comfortable.

Her senses immediately stood on high alert. All she saw was blackness as she tried to remember what had happened last.

The last few days had been a whirlwind and a complete assault to her senses. She had left her island, the only place that had ever really felt something like a home. She had come to Draco's house, to his ice-cold manor, and that had not felt like home. She'd been fearful and insecure ever since arriving, unsure of how to behave and what to do. Was she there now?

There was a pang in her heart that felt unbearably painful, and she was hard-pressed to ignore it.

She had never felt so comfortable on her thin cot in the manor. Even the makeshift one they had built on the island had been more comfortable than the slave quarters. So then why was she at ease now? Inexplicably, a sense of dread sparked through her body and she was instantly wary.

Life at the manor had been hell, except for the brief interlude she'd enjoyed with Draco before he'd…before he'd...

...Before he'd left her!

All too suddenly, she recalled exactly the reason why her heart felt as if it had been ripped from her chest.

She had been abandoned, without so much as a note, in a terrible place where everyone seemed to intend to do her harm! How could he have done that to her? After all his promises of protecting her, how could he leave her to the snakes?

A memory of power, such Dark and raw power, shrilling through her in a terrible frenzy, caused a jolt to ricochet down her spine. She'd called upon such power, hadn't she? Not only had she called it, but she'd bent it to her will, placing herself as the master over it. How had she summoned such a force?

Another memory wormed its way to the surface, one that caused her fists to clench around the mysterious softness she was encased in.

Pain.

Such blood-curdling, nausea-inducing, intense pain, she trembled at the recollection of it. All of a sudden, her thoughts came running back to her in a rage. She had been Crucio'd—for all to see! No one had come to help her - no one had _stopped it_ \- she'd been all alone in the nightmare that was the Cruciatus, in her punishment that had been witnessed by every notable Pureblood in Wiltshire.

Her eyes popped open, angry and full of fury.

What she saw made her pause briefly—an ornately decorated ceiling painted with the most beautiful of images. It made no sense whatsoever that she should be seeing such a sight! How was she staring up at something so wonderful? She sat up, sluggish and confused, absently noticing the lavish room she was in, painted in golden hues with occasional specks of sapphire blues.

She was on the largest bed she'd ever seen. Really, she may as well be on an ocean by herself, it was that large. She whipped the plush coverlet off of herself, surprised when she saw she was barefoot and wearing the softest material she could ever imagine. She absently noticed her hair was falling in a array of neatly brushed curls over her shoulders, not even a pin or a hat in place.

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Jolted into action, she crawled across the luxurious bed in her curiously frilly nightgown for what seemed like ages until she reached the edge and stepped carefully down. She was wobbly for a minute, and she had the distinct impression that she had been asleep for a while. There was a heaviness in her legs that couldn't be ignored, but there was none of the pain that she would have expected after being under the Cruciatus. Had someone given her a potion? None of it made the least bit of sense.

By a fancy table stood deluxe chairs with startling blue cushions, over which she immediately noticed a dressing gown had been draped. Below that was a pair of slippers, seemingly waiting for her.

She swallowed convulsively, her initial wariness flaring to life once more.

Unable to see another option, she went to the table and put the robe on over her nightgown as she stepped into the slippers. There was only one door in the room, one way out. Should she stay for a minute, take more time to gather her thoughts?

It was clear she had, at some point, passed out. The wave of magic she had called was too much to bear and had knocked her off of her feet. But instead of finding herself in a cell in Azkaban, as she would expect, she found herself in comparable luxury. What in Merlin's name was she missing from this equation?

Steeling herself, she reached for the golden door handle and turned it, mildly surprised to find it unlocked. She opened it quickly and stepped out into a rather large room. There were other doors lining the wall she had come from, more rooms like hers, she guessed. In the middle of the big room was a spectacular fountain, shooting water out in a beautiful pattern. Around the fountain were more tables and chairs, sofas and divans, causing her to believe she was in a sitting room of sorts.

At the end of the room stood glass doors that were two stories tall, leading out to what looked to be a garden not dissimilar to the Malfoys but, impossibly, ten times more exquisite. She wondered briefly if she could escape through there. Would the doors be locked?

"There you are."

Panic set in at the sound of the rich and melodious voice. It was disturbingly familiar.

Hermione drew her eyes across the room to where...the King! - sat as comfortably as you please with a dreadfully dark expression on his face. He was wearing silver and black robes, and an intricate golden crown that formed perfectly to his head.

 _Sweet Morgana,_ she thought in terror. _What the bloody hell am I supposed to do?_

"Um," she faltered. "Hello," her voice came out tremulous as she ventured the insincere greeting.

"Don't be rude," he told her, his voice heavy-laden with authority. "Come and take a seat."

Dear gods. He wanted her to have a seat... _next to him?_ Whatever for? A lump formed in her throat as she attempted to swallow down her trepidation, taking tentative steps towards him. It was hard to keep her steps steady as he watched her, but she couldn't look away from the intensity of his gaze! He was practically drinking her in, staring at her as if he couldn't believe his eyes. Her fists clenched by her side, digging little half-moon dents into her flesh.

She soon reached the sofa he was sprawled on, and took the furthest seat she could manage, turning heavily towards him.

"Excellency," she remembered, catching herself.

She waited for him to speak, hoping she could determine how she should act based on his actions. She still wished desperately to make a break for the door, now more than ever, but a wizard such as King Riddle would surely have it warded. Just thinking about his magic made her acutely aware of its presence lying thickly in the air in an almost oppressive sort of way. Her magic had the innate instinct to furl out and brush against it. She had to mentally force her magic to stay calm and obey her.

"What is your name, girl?"

"Hermione," she forced out, wanting urgently to look away from his face. Somehow she knew she shouldn't, that it might anger him.

"Hermione." He seemed to be tasting the name on his tongue. "So you are Hermione, now?"

She furrowed her brows in confusion. What the bloody hell did that mean? "Er...yes?"

"You've caused quite the debacle at the Malfoy residence, little slave."

She tried to read him, but his face was now inscrutable. She had no idea how she was supposed to respond. "Sorry, Your Highness, I did not mean to offend Lady Greengrass."

Maybe he hadn't noticed her use of magic, maybe she could play it off as someone else who had caused the disruption? She could pretend she knew nothing about it! But then...he must _already know._ Why else would he bring her here? It couldn't be routine to question a slave in such a fashion.

"I'm sure she is _no Lady._ "

Her eyes widened to saucers at the brash statement.

He chuckled darkly. "But you did put on quite a show for the party guests, didn't you? You certainly brought the entertainment."

She carefully forced her face blank, innocent. "I don't know what you mean, Excellency."

"I refer to the magic," he wasted no time telling her. "It was rather impressive, and uniquely powerful, so much so that you couldn't contain it."

"I...how could I use magic? I'm a mere Muggle. Surely if I were born with magic it would have been sifted out at an early age, Excellency." She mentally berated herself for rambling. Such an action screamed guilt!

He quirked his lips in apparent annoyance. "Yes, you would think so, wouldn't you? But you managed to evade the Snatchers for so long, to evade _me_."

Hermione gulped at the dark infection of his tone.

"I...it wasn't me...I promise!"

He ignored the blatant lie. "Tell me, did the Malfoy heir know of your power, all the time the two of you spent together?"

"No!"

The King grinned wickedly, causing her heart to hammer erratically against her chest.

"He knew."

Oh, Merlin, what had she done? Was she now bringing Draco into this, getting him in trouble right along with her?

"He didn't know, Your Highness." She dropped all pretenses of self preservation. "I kept it from him just like I kept it secret all my life."

"I wonder why you are so loyal to him," the King spat cruelly, causing her to recoil back. "He left you quickly enough. Tell me, did he even say goodbye? I know he told his parents and his Intended he was leaving. Were you the last to know, little Mudblood?"

The hurt that stabbed at her heart made her want to sink into the marble floors. Could it be true? Tears sprung to her vulnerable eyes, and a wicked gleam passed over the King's dark ones.

"It's always the same, isn't it? After all this time, you still fall victim to the same traps."

Once more, Hermione was at a loss for what he was speaking about. It was almost as if he were talking to her like he knew her. None of this made any sense.

"Will I be going to Azkaban?"

The King let out an unkingly snort. "Azkaban? What a silly thought. I'm going to require your help, after all."

"My help," she choked out, shock written across her face.

"What a pity you don't remember." Hermione tried to make sense of the haunted look that crossed his eyes. "Though it makes sense when you consider the ordeal you've been through. I would almost apologize, I know you would forgive me like you always do." For a brief moment his features softened, and there was something vulnerable, _something timeless,_ she couldn't really understand. Then his eyes hardened once more. "But I'm not sorry, and I'll do it again, better next time. Your friends have stolen an idea from me, and they've bitten off more than they can chew, I assure you."

"My friends?"

Did she have friends? Was the King mad? He might as well be talking gibberish.

He got up from his seat, and Hermione paid attention, wanting to know what door he was going to go through and where the exit was, but then he did something that caused her to shrink back into the cushions. Changing his mind, he turned around and walked briskly towards her, before kneeling down so he was at eye level, and reaching his hand out to caress her cheek.

Hermione's magic flared hotly then, reaching out to push against his angrily, and his eyes widened when their magic touched.

"It may have all gone differently," he told her seriously. "It might have been you I chose. You were always more powerful, but you didn't have _the will._ Your stubbornness was always focused on others and on _stopping me._ I couldn't have that. I would have liked to know how you did it, though." There was a greedy sheen to his eyes, a curiosity that made her uncomfortable. "I shan't be making the same mistake again where you are concerned. I no longer underestimate you."

Merlin, but how the man liked to talk!

She was unsure why, but his words caused her rage to flood through her, riled up and palpable, her fear ebbing away to practically nothing. "Rest assured that if you go after my friends, I will always be there to stop you!"

The words didn't come from her, they came from that foreign place that scared her, the place she tried to avoid at all costs. That place was a dark abyss and if she went there she would surely be lost!

Anger splintered across his face as he straightened quickly, looking down at her as if he might crush her.

The prior meekness returned and a litany of apologies sputtered from her throat, confused and frightened.

"Poor little bird," he spat cruelly. "Trapped in a helpless shell, unable to escape your fate—your story is a tragic one." For a minute the cruelness on his face warred with something close to regret. "You will help me release her—it will be the last act you do—and then we will say our goodbyes forever. I cannot suffer weakness to live."

Hermione gaped at him, perplexed,her head positively swimming with questions.

"I've warded you to this room and the gardens," he told her flippantly. "I'm a bit more generous than I was last time. You know what they say about absence and all."

He turned away from her and walked towards a door east of her room, as if he hadn't been telling her the most strangest of things for the past thirty minutes. He walked briskly out without a backwards glance, and then it hit her—she was to be his prisoner! He wanted her to help him with some mysterious task, and then she would be killed! She couldn't let herself be victimized. _AGAIN!_ The foreign voices screamed. Hermione pulled at her hair, willing them to just _shut up_. She flew off of the sofa and to the rooms that lined the hall, trying every door and finding them locked.

She needed to escape like she needed air to breathe!

He really was keeping her here. Draco was working for him! He had time to say goodbye to his family, possibly even Astoria, but not to her! The logical side that screamed for her to calm down and see reason was dimmed to nothing by the wild frenzy that flared hotly through her body.

Something far more primitive than she was refused to be trapped. She had to escape, had to get away from here, and from Britain altogether!

The magic was bubbling, bristling furiously across her skin and raging.

Her eyes drew to the glass doors leading to the garden. Did the pompous wizard think he could keep her caged? He said he would no longer underestimate her, well, _he had._ She would not remain to be used and then unceremoniously tossed aside—her mind rebelled against it.

Walking to the west end of the sitting room, she threw open the glass doors and stepped into the evening air that was dimly lit with magical lanterns, realizing she must have slept a full twenty-four hours, and that the strange king had indeed doctored her. That was to his detriment. She was whole, and she was fit, and she was scorned. Despite being wandless, like always, her magic clung to her hungrily, awaiting her every demand.

The gardens were vast and he was keeping her in a rather lovely prison—perhaps he had been right about that-but she wasn't staying. She would find a way out. She knew instinctively that she would. There was no point in running to the edges, she would likely be singed by his powerful wards. That would not be her escape. Her eyes scanned the garden shrewdly, searching and searching, determined to find what she needed.

 _They're all over Britain,_ she mused. _Surely I can find one at the palace._ Hopefully the King would not be aware of such magic. Bugger, even she was not aware of it! But she knew it existed and this was life or death.

 _You're going about this the wrong way,_ a voice in her head informed her. _Close your eyes, and sense the spot where the magic is strongest._

She could think about the ramifications of why she was listening to voices later, right now it was clear she needed to follow the bizarre guide in her head. She closed her eyes and focused, letting her magic unfurl around her, spreading around the garden and _testing_.

Her eyes popped open when she discovered it.

She ran like her life depended on it - it did! - to the spot where she sensed the connection. When she got there, to the little knoll only slightly lifted from the ground, she didn't stop to think what her next step was, but instead let her magic wash through her in a powerful wave.

The Fae instantly appeared before her, slightly jarring the air around her as she stepped to solid ground.

"One here, too?" It asked with barely suppressed restraint.

Hermione couldn't bother to be fearful of the formidable creature, but instead drew upon a courage deep inside of her. She cast a glance back at the palace before mustering the authority needed to address the Fae. "I wish to access the portal now."

"But it's unmade." It was hard to read the subtleties in Fae expressions, but she registered confusion.

"Then step aside, and let me make it," said a voice not her own, but that had somehow come out of her throat.

The Fae sparkled angrily, fury mixed with fear etched on her perfect face, before something like defeat crossed over her face and she vanished in an indignant huff.

Hermione stepped onto the knoll, willing her magic to empty into the vacant area as well as into the invisible shift in the air that immediately drank it up hungrily. The glimmer returned, this time ripping a hole through the actual scenery. She didn't understand what she was doing, but her magic seemed to understand, flooding into the hole and expanding it, widening it, and then _activating_ it.

Instantly, Hermione was caught up in a phantasmagoria of colors that she screwed her eyes shut against. But they swept through her tightly closed eyelids and into her mind, not to be ignored. Distantly, it reminded her of the time she had opened up Draco's chakras, but this was intensified drastically. Hot, white light encased her, cocooned her, and _moved her_.

She was all of a sudden traveling, spinning through time and space through a tight tunnel bound by color and light. Her senses were reeling as she tried to make sense of the foreign dimension, but her brain would not compute, and so she kept tumbling, free falling helplessly.

 _No,_ returned the voice. _Don't let it sweep you up, use it and wield it, make it take you to where you want to go, to where you need to be._

 _Where I need to be,_ she thought. If only she knew where that was!

The tunnel was spinning around her faster and faster, and she could barely get a hold of her senses, feeling as though her body was on the verge of being ripped apart. With a valiant effort, she reined in the tumult of colors and prodded with her magic. _Take me where I need to be,_ she intoned. It cut and curved and jostled her, but she felt her senses returning. Then the light was changing and she could begin to see it take her back to somewhere familiar, to gravity and to earth.

 _Yes,_ she rejoiced. _Here._

If she had thought her and Draco's island had felt like home, there was something about the place she was approaching that was even more so, that felt _right._ The scents were right and the scenery was right and the energies were right.

Tensing her muscles, she moved towards the stop, finding it blocked, and then forcibly wrenching a hole in it, ripping it until it was large enough to crawl out of. She breathed heaps of air as she clawed her way from the tunnel, dragging herself out and resisting its grasp to pull her back in. There was a strength inside her that seemed to know inherently what to do, that grounded her, and then she was tumbling onto solid ground.

Her pants turned to gasps and she felt as if she hadn't breathed in minutes, her chest rose and fell irregularly. Looking around in a daze, she was surprised to find it was daylight, perhaps in the process of shifting to evening, but she couldn't be sure.

She smelled the ocean, heard the sound of water rushing beneath her, and far below...sensed the presence of magic-wielders like herself.

 _Now what,_ she wondered as she turned to find the source of the magical presences, but the internal voices had left her. She was on her own once more.

Four sets of eyes stood gaping at her, and Hermione wraked her brain frenetically in an effort to discern if they were friend or foe.

They dressed funny, the two women wearing _trousers._ Every one of them had wands in their hands, trained right at her. The one that stood closest had a spectrum of emotions play across his face, from awe and shock to disbelief and budding distrust.

Hermione let out a groan of pain, and that seemed to shatter the frozen scene in front of her.

"Who are you?" The black-haired wizard with the unruly hair shouted at her, wand leveled dangerously at her chest. "Speak now, witch, I won't hesitate to hex you."

Hermione put her hands up in surrender. "Please, I mean you no harm," she breathed, still in the throes of catching her breath.

"She's a Pureblood," said the other wizard, pointing at her nightgown. "She is dressed like an elitist." He looked at her with alarm in his eyes and Hermione's heart sank. "She can't be trusted," he said with a snarl.

The brunette witch stepped closer to the wizard who had accused her, pressing herself against his chest in and appraising Hermione with a look of wariness.

The wizard with the electrifying green eyes didn't take his gaze off of her for a second, looking as if he expected her to transform into a dragon at any moment.

But the other witch, the blonde one, stepped around her friends and edged closer to where Hermione was trying to pull herself to her knees in an effort to regain her dignity.

"Don't go near her, Tracey," came the command of the first wizard. "Sirius is right—we can't trust her."

"No," the witch, Tracey, shook her head confidently, a forlorn look etched on her pretty face. "We _can_ trust her." She looked at Hermione with curious eyes rife with turmoil. "She's the one...the one from my dreams."

 **~oOo*oOo~**


End file.
